


Boundaries of the Soul

by Arianna



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape, Sexual Content, Strong Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianna/pseuds/Arianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark fic. When they are captured by white supremecists, Jim has to have sex with his best friend, to save Blair's life. Not really slash, but graphic and all about love. (Sequel to the GEN story Through A Glass Darkly - Originally exclusive to the SentinelAngst Yahoo Group)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boundaries of the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> This story is not gen, not slash... but, uh, well, you'll see that I balanced on a very thin line with this J/B pairing. Extreme violence and rape. Some of it is very dark.

**"Move it! Move it!"** Colonel Emery shouted above the heavy tumult of pounding boots, the slam of crates against one another as they were hurriedly loaded onto the transports and the calls of men to one another as they carried out their assigned responsibilities for evacuation. There was an urgency, almost a frenzy, in the air, a palpable tension that gripped all of them. But any appearance of chaos was misleading. These men knew what they were about. They were professionals. Their security had been compromised and each knew every microsecond counted, none could be wasted or they'd not make their escape. Weapons and explosives were secured, tents and all the rest of the gear required for survival were loaded last and then the trucks' gates were lifted and locked, flaps pulled down and tied. Last of all, the troops, dressed in their camouflage fatigues of mottled purple to blend with the shadows, piled into the final two trucks and they were away into the night, each vehicle taking a different route along their assigned path to the designated place of rendezvous far to the north in three days time.

They were a rugged, highly skilled and resolute mobile force that knew the risks and took them willingly, readily, even eagerly. No strangers to danger or death, willing to gamble their lives but rigorously disciplined and dedicated, they waged their bets against the odds, even against the Fates with almost careless abandon. They knew they stood alone against a combined might far greater than their own, yet that knowledge did not deter them. If anything, it made them more determined and emboldened them to strike hard and fast, evoking fear in the heart of their enemy. If caught, they each knew their lives were forfeit so they gave no quarter, ever.

Fifty hard men, they were accustomed to the exigencies of war, cold without the warmth of mercy in their souls. They knew their acts were considered barbarous and cruel, even vicious. But, there were always casualties in battle, the innocent paid with the guilty... it was, perhaps, regrettable, but it was also inevitable. Their mission transcended the boundaries of polite society; they had no time for delicacy. Bonded as brothers by their devotion to their mission and their commander, they had no doubt of the rightness and necessity of their deeds. They considered themselves bold heroes, courageous in their tireless pursuit of justice.

What did it matter if the rest of the world considered them murderous psychotics, malicious and evil in their wanton pursuit of terrorism?

By the time the frustrated and furious FBI agents converged on the last known location of the Patriots of Racial Purity, their targets were long gone, disappearing like wisps of fog into the shadows of a moonless night.

 

* * *

 

 _"...UN inspectors have again been refused access to key sites and the Security Council will be meeting shortly in an emergency session to determine next steps;" the radio announcer's voice droned on... "White House sources report that President Bush will attend the International Congress on Terrorism being held in The Hague next month; the interstate alert continues across Arizona, Nevada and California, as the FBI step up their hunt for the Patriots of Racial Purity, the domestic terrorist group responsible for more than a dozen violent bombings and armed assaults in the past eighteen months. The group has claimed responsibility for the deaths of more than two hundred Americans. Anyone with information is requested to call 1-800-555-5520..."_

"Man, why isn't there ever any _good_ news?" Blair sighed as he flipped off the radio and slid in Jim's favourite Santana CD before leaning back in his seat, his elbow propped on the open window ledge.

"I know what you mean, Chief," Ellison replied with a short shake of his head, his eyes on the narrow, curving road ahead. "I suppose the optimistic interpretation would be that good news is so commonplace there is no need to report it, whereas the incidence of crime, terrorism and the threat of international biological disaster remains rare enough to warrant notice," Sandburg hypothesized. "You think?"

Ellison snorted with a wry humour as he flashed a quick look at his best friend and partner. "I don't know about you, Einstein, but the incidence of crime seems pretty commonplace to me," he replied with a certain weary resignation.

"Yeah, right," Blair agreed, looking out the window at the forested landscape rolling past at a sedate if bumpy pace. No, the incidence of crime, at least in Cascade, hadn't shown any noticeable signs of diminishing in the past few months. They were tired; the whole unit was tired. There'd been a rash of drug related deaths that had spread like a plague over the body of the city. Too many people had lost their lives before they'd finally tracked down the two-legged monsters responsible two days before. Then, there'd been the guy who'd held a class of school children hostage... thank God, they'd managed to take him out without any kids getting hurt... well, physically hurt. The poor tykes would probably have nightmares for the rest of their lives. An arsonist had burned out several blocks down at the waterfront, before Rafe and Henri had finally caught up with him yesterday.

And that didn't begin to touch the robberies, assaults, computer fraud, murders, gang tensions and sporadic clashes that so far hadn't built into a street war... well, they'd been busy, very, _very_ busy.

This break was long overdue and the whole team of the Major Crimes Unit had grabbed at the idea of getting in a weekend far from the city lights and the violence of their everyday lives, even if it was only for a couple of days. They needed to fill their lungs with clear mountain air, immerse frazzled souls in the soothing peace of the vast, silent forests, allow tensions to be eased by the sounds of ageless rivers and streams rushing down to the sea. Out here, the blare of horns and the explosion of gunfire were exchanged for the sweet song of birds and the plop of a fish jumping on the surface of a languid lake.

Quietly, they both drank it in... the tranquility and promise of the easy company of the friends and colleagues who were following in the sturdy SUV behind... Simon, Joel, H. and Rafe. It was an all-guy weekend, much to Megan's disgust. But, they'd pointed out that she would have been more than welcome to come but she'd already decided to head back to Australia for a couple of weeks. At Simon's request, she had agreed to extend her assignment for another year, so given they'd broken the backs on several of their major cases she'd elected to take a two week break to visit with her family and friends back home.

They were headed to a cabin deep in the wilderness, beautifully situated above a shimmering mountain lake packed with pickerel, less than fifteen minutes walk to the banks of a sparkling river bearing, if H.'s enthusiastic advertisement was to be believed, boundless numbers of rainbow trout that practically fought for the privilege of being an angler's dinner. The cabin was said to be comfortable if not luxurious, in a remotely private location... so remote that it had no telephone or cable, the mountains so high that cells were useless. While this group seldom cared for such inaccessible retreats, the lack of anything resembling time off in the last couple of months made the idea of being completely out reach of civilization exceptionally appealing. The location was accessible by road, if you could dignify the rough track that ascended up through the tall forest with such an appellation... hence the truck and the rented SUV as the transport of choice. The place belonged to H.'s cousin, Winslow, who had been glad to rent it to them for the weekend. There were no neighbours within at least a thirty-mile radius.

Altogether, it sounded like paradise.

Blair took a deep breath of the pine-scented, cool air and breathed out the tensions of the last weeks. Unconsciously, he sighed in contentment, drawing an indulgent smile from his companion. It might be only two days of heaven, but two days were a whole lot better than nothing.

This was going to be one great weekend.

 

* * *

 

The first glimpse of the cabin nestled in the trees lived up to expectations. Built of logs that had weathered over the past fifty years, with a screened porch running along the front and side and a stone chimney rising from the far side, it looked as if it had grown there, a part of the forest itself. When they'd pulled up and gotten out of their vehicles, the men stood for a moment in silence, soaking up the peace of the place as they gazed out over the broad expanse of the azure lake and listened to its gentle lap up along the sandy shoreline less than two hundred feet away. The frontage of the cabin faced southwest, taking in the prospect of the forest and snow-capped mountain peaks rising beyond the lake to the south. A short wooden dock jutted out from the shore and the bow of a rowboat poked out from under a tarp just at the tree-line. Above, the brilliant blue sky was clear of any cloud, and the late morning sun warmed the crisp fall air.

"Beautiful, H.," Blair murmured, a soft smile playing about his lips as he stood with his hands thrust deep in his jean pockets, his mane of wild curls lifting a little in the breeze that drifted across the water.

An uncharacteristically mellow Henri acknowledged the quiet tribute with a nod and a wide smile. He'd always loved this place and he felt good about sharing it with these friends who sometimes, often, felt more like family.

Finally, they turned to unload their gear and supplies, taking two trips into the cabin each before they were done. Inside, it was exactly as promised. Old, but comfortable, chairs lined the porch wall, separated by well-used handcrafted low wooden side-tables. The door opened into the cozy open kitchen and lounge, with a cluster of chairs and a sofa gathered around the large stone hearth, a round pine table that would seat eight, and pine cabinets and counter along one wall, with a stove and refrigerator that operated on the electricity produced by the generator out back. There was a tiffany style lamp hanging from a chain over the table, with a floor lamp and table lamps to provide light in the lounge once darkness fell. The floor was dark pine that held a soft gloss, and the walls were painted a very pale green. Not that there was much wall space, given the large windows on each side. A hall led back toward the four bedrooms, two with double beds and two with twin beds, all with warm down-filled bed coverings and pillows over smooth linen sheets. The bathroom held the surprise of a Jacuzzi style tub as well as a large shower stall. The entire place was spotlessly clean, and the makings of a fire had been already laid in the hearth, only wanting a match to fill the cabin with warm, flickering light.

They laughed and teased as they worked out the sleeping arrangements, with Simon intoning that 'rank has its privileges' as he and Joel commandeered the two private rooms, leaving the two sets of partners to share the other bedrooms. Rafe expressed surprise at how pristine the place was, and that it had all been made up for them. H. again smiled with pleasure as he admitted his cousin's wife had come up the day before to make sure it was ready for them. He'd told his relatives how much he and his friends were looking forward to this much-needed respite and his family had come through for him, making him proud.

Settling in didn't take long... especially not when all those eager fish were practically calling to them. After a quick lunch of sandwiches and beer, Simon, Joel and Rafe elected to test out the boat, rowing out onto the lake, while Jim thought he'd take his chances from the dock. H. told Blair he knew of a great little spot on the river, about a half mile upstream, so they ambled out along the narrow path through the forest, fishing poles arcing back over their shoulders. Whoever got back with fish first didn't have to clean them... Jim figured he had the best odds of winning that little contest. He hoped so, anyway, as he found the pungent fishy smell a bit strong for absolute comfort and his enhanced sense of touch made the slimy task more than a little disgusting. When he'd announced his chosen fishing spot, Blair had flashed him a cheeky grin, winking as he'd called a laughing, "Good luck, man," as he and H. headed off. But, over his shoulder he cheerfully informed his best friend that he'd brought some rubber gloves in case Fortune failed to smile upon Jim that day.

"You're all heart, Sandburg," Ellison had muttered with a smile as he strode down to the dock. The kid was always one step ahead, making sure he had the bases covered, attending to even the smallest details to ease the challenges enhanced senses could present to everyday life. As he flicked his rod, sending the line out into the lake, Ellison felt himself relax. There'd be no need for a white noise generator out here to let him sleep in peace, he reflected, as he listened to the soft lap of tiny swells against the wooden pilings, the call of a jay somewhere in the forest and Simon's soft chuckle that drifted over the water.

Far from the maddening crowd, miles from anywhere, rich with natural beauty and bounty, it was bliss.

They had no suspicion, no inkling, no reason to even imagine that their paradise had been invaded by a nest of deadly, and very, vicious vipers.

 

* * *

 

The scout heard them before he saw them. Ducking behind one of the massive boulders that littered the edge of the river, the remains of an eons old landslide, he waited and watched as the rich sound of deep laughter rose in counter-point to a softer warm babble of sound until the voices became clearer. Some guy telling the other some story. As they came into sight, he could see it was the smaller man who was talking, some hippie fag with long hair blowing across his face. "I promise you, man, that's exactly what happened. I swear, that's what he called me, 'neo-hippy, witchdoctor, punk.' Now, I ask you, was that nice?" Blair chuckled as he reached up to brush his hair back over his ear.

"And he threw you against the wall?" H. demanded, shaking his head with a wide grin as he imagined, with no difficulty whatsoever, an enraged Ellison.

"Yeah, just because I suggested that he might exhibit certain traits of pre-civilized society... I mean, I meant it anthropologically, right? You guys are warriors... nice, civilized warriors, but warriors nonetheless, and you have certain traits in common with your ancestors... tracking, hunting, fighting, whatever," Blair continued, affecting an erudite air of a Doctor of Philosophy, that reduced H. to snickers. "It's all part of understanding how cultures evolve over time while still maintaining their core integrity and identity. Hey, man... like I've studied for years to understand these subtle nuances of social and cultural behaviour."

"Sandburg, only you would dare call Ellison a caveman and expect to live to tell the tale," Henri laughed as he gave the smaller man a jovial slap on the back.

The scout swallowed in disgust as he watched the Spade and the Jew amble down through the rocks to the river. 'Can't go nowhere these days without finding filth polluting the God's good earth,' he thought with a sneer. Still, he couldn't complain about the opportunity to get in some hunting. It definitely broke the monotony of staring at nothing but trees and water for hours and days at a time. 'Like ducks in a barrel,' he reflected as he raised his rifle and took aim. 'Easy prey, too easy... maybe I'll let one run a bit... make it more fun,' he considered as his finger slowly squeezed the trigger.

 

* * *

 

The sharp report of the weapon swiftly followed by a startled scream of agony ripped through the primeval quiet of the forest, and carried over the silent lake.

Jim's head jerked up, all sense of relaxation gone as he tensed in sudden alert. Even as he wondered what had happened, imagining a hunting accident, he was tossing his fishing pole onto the shore as he raced up toward the forest to plunge into the dark shadows of the path Sandburg and H. had taken less than half an hour before.

Out on the water, Simon had grabbed up the oars and was rowing furiously toward shore as fast as he could go.

 

* * *

 

The force of the heavy gauge bullet tearing through his left shoulder pitched H. forward into the fast-moving current, cutting off the scream surprised from him by the fiery, blinding blast of pain. Denying himself the luxury of even a moment of stunned shock, Blair launched himself forward into a shallow dive and grabbed the back of H.'s jacket before he could be carried out of reach, hauling him swiftly back to shore and dragging him up hastily into the shelter of a cluster of large boulders.

"Henri!" he called sharply, fear thick in his voice as he took in the bright crimson stain spreading over shoulder and chest under H.'s sodden jacket. "H.! Can you hear me?" he called again as he pulled off his own soaking wet, wool jacket to bunch it over the wound, unconsciously shivering from cold and shock. When he got no response, he swore under his breath, "Damned, careless, hunter... too bad Bambi can't shoot back... maybe then you'd stay out of the woods." Conscious that he was babbling, he took a deep, steadying breath to ward off panic. Jim would have heard the shot... he'd be here soon and together they could get H. back to the cabin.

Just then, another shot whistled through the air and bit chips of rock from the boulder behind which they were sheltered.

"Son of a bitch!" Blair screamed out, still thinking some brainless and half-blind hunter had mistaken them for a deer or a bear or something. "Stop shooting, you idiot!"

"Run, Jew-boy, or you'll be as dead as your nigger friend," the harsh voice called out, just before another bullet grazed the boulder above and behind him, ricocheting with a deadly whine that made Blair duck reflexively. "Run, or I'll come over there and shoot you right now."

"Oh my God!" Blair panted, realizing finally that the attack had been no accident. He looked down at his unconscious friend, one hand gently reaching to stroke H.'s forehead.

The maniac thought H. was dead.

Jim would be here soon.

If he could distract the guy long enough, keep him busy and away from H., maybe, maybe Henri would be okay.

H. moaned softly as he pushed his mind past the pain to struggle back to consciousness, then blinked up at Blair, awareness growing in his eyes.

"Shh," Blair cautioned with a hoarse whisper as he pressed his fingers lightly against H.'s lips. "Jim'll be here soon... play dead. Some nut is trying to kill us... I'm going to draw him off."

"Hey, Jew-boy! I'll give you a sporting chance... how 'bout I count to ten?" the taunting voice rang out.

Frowning with the sudden realization that Blair was intending to risk his life, H. grabbed Blair's arm in alarm to keep him from such crazy heroics, wincing against the stab of agony the movement caused him. Like Blair, H. realized that Ellison couldn't be far away, nor could the others. They just needed to stay down and out of the line of fire until the cavalry arrived. But, weak with shock, he was unable to keep Blair from prying his fingers away, and then Blair was gone, running low behind the questionable shelter of the scattered boulders, heading away from the cabin... luring the killer away from his friends.

Shivering again, his teeth starting to chatter from the icy cold of his sodden clothing, Blair clung raggedly to dark humour to push back the terror that tightened his chest as he thought grimly, 'Well, I guess running for my life is one way of keeping warm...'

Blair thought the armed and dangerous racist shooting at them was alone, and that he might actually stand a chance of evading the man so keen to hunt him. He had no way of knowing that he was running toward forty-nine other murderous psychopaths.

 

* * *

 

The scout grinned with savage delight as he tracked Blair's progress, letting the freak think he was getting away and then letting off another shot that thudded into a tree, or blasted rock, stinging him with flying wooden splinters or slivers of stone. Like a cat torments a mouse, the terrorist stalked Blair, once even laughing aloud when his prey didn't seem to know which way to run.

 

* * *

 

Jim had heard a voice call out with taunting tones, but hadn't been close enough to make out the words. Shortly after, as he raced out of the forest just above the river, he noted that the sound of the shots were receding, moving quickly away upriver. Sniffing, he caught the metallic scent of blood on the light breeze and his heart clenched even as his gut rebelled at the cloying odour. Alert, his gaze quartering the area, he moved swiftly forward, finally spotting H.'s sprawled form a few feet from the water. Less than a minute later, wondering with a sick sense of fear where Sandburg was, he'd reached his fallen colleague.

"H.! My, God," he exclaimed softly as he knelt by his friend and, lifting away Blair's jacket, saw the sodden splash of blood that stained the younger man's chest.

"Jim," H. muttered, his jaw clenched against the pain as he reached to push Ellison away. "I'm fine. He's after Blair... guy's a nut. Go, man... Sandburg needs your help!"

"What?" Ellison demanded, fear and fury flashing in his eyes.

"Crazy racist..." H. ground out, pointing to the east along the river.

Knowing that Simon and the others wouldn't be long behind him and that H. could last until their help arrived, Jim wasted no more time with questions. He rose to run as swiftly as he could along the uneven and treacherous ground. Another shot rang out, more to the north and Jim, terrified to know that Blair was the hunted, angled up into the forest, racing as fast as he could to the rescue.

 

* * *

 

The hunter was having such a good time that he failed to notice when he'd become the hunted.

His eyes raking the forest, Jim spotted the stranger though his dark, purple-splotched fatigues merged well with the deep shadows. His jaw tight, eyes narrowed with cold intent, Ellison prowled forward, moving soundlessly as he'd long ago been trained to do in Covert Ops. Even as he approached his prey, he continued to scan the forest, using his senses to locate Blair and determine if his best friend was still unharmed. But the sound of the familiar and reassuring sound of a strong, steady heartbeat pounding too fast with fear, and then the sight of Sandburg zigzagging with nimble swiftness amongst the trees, only heightened his desire to throttle the enemy with his bare hands. This animal was hunting Sandburg, tormenting him... had already seriously wounded H. The man was an armed killer, intent upon murder. While the ethical cop that lived in Jim's mind forced him to reason as he closed in on his enemy, the fury in the Sentinel's soul was held only in tenuous control.

The scout had paused in his own loping passage through the wood to once again raise his rifle and sight along the scope, waiting to fire as he anticipated his quarry's next shift in direction. He laughed low in his throat, a cruel, harsh sound and his lips curled in satisfaction.

This time, he wouldn't deliberately miss.

This time, he'd make the kill.

 

* * *

 

Simon had left Rafe and Joel to care for H. and get him back to the cabin. Following after Jim, to give him back up, the police captain felt rage burning deep within. Some bigoted psycho had just shot one of his men and was hunting another for the sole reason that one was black and the other of Jewish ancestry. Lord, he loathed racism in all its forms, but now his loathing was coupled with a burning, righteous desire to catch the bastard who'd threatened the lives of his people. Henri's wound wasn't likely fatal, but the man had lost a lot of blood, and they were a long way from the nearest hospital. He based his hope that Sandburg was still in one piece upon the echoes of the intermittent shots. The animal was taunting Blair, tormenting him, letting him hope he might get away. Simon knew that the vicious streak in the murderous soul was the only thing that had kept Sandburg alive so far... that and the kid's own courage and ingenuity. Banks had no doubt from what H. had told them that the nutcase would have killed both men if Blair hadn't taken up the challenge to run the gauntlet. Watching the ground for sign, listening to the shots to give him the main direction, he moved with a swift sureness through the cool forest. From the sound, he figured he was about fifteen minutes from the action.

 

* * *

 

Ellison snaked a hard arm around the sentry's throat even as his other hand reached forward to grip the barrel of the rifle and pull it off target just a heartbeat before the man pulled the trigger, sending the shot wide.

The sentry loosened his grip on the weapon, both hands reaching to grasp the arm that was choking him, to pull it away as he struggled fiercely against the man behind him. "Police... **_surrender_**!" Jim ground out, barely able to speak past his anger. Ruthlessly, to reinforce his command, Ellison tightened his hold. Letting the rifle fall to the ground, his legs widely braced for balance, he shifted his grip slightly, still containing his fury enough to choke out but not kill.

But, the desperate terrorist wasn't prepared to be taken. Giving up his attempts to dislodge Ellison's grip, he clawed for the knife at his belt and dragged it out, intent upon using it to kill his attacker.

Sandburg had snapped a quick look back at the sound of the last shot, and had almost collapsed with relief when he saw that Jim had taken control of the situation. Blowing out a wordless prayer of thanksgiving, he was jogging back to join his friend when he spotted his tormenter grasp the knife. Horrified by the danger to Jim, he shouted out in warning, " ** _Knife! He's got a knife!_** "

 _The man twisted his body back and against Jim as he slashed around viciously with the long, razor-sharp blade. Reflexively, Ellison shifted out of way of the attack while still maintaining the relentless pressure on his attacker's throat. The movement wasn't much, really, but combined with the villain's own sharp shift, it was enough to snap the man's neck with an audible crack. His face void of expression, Jim relaxed his grip and let the lifeless body sag to the ground._

 _"Jim! You okay?" Blair called breathlessly as he reached his friend's side and reached out to grip Ellison's rigid arm firmly, to ground him and to help him control the emotions that were surging within._

 _The Sentinel nodded as he turned his gaze from the body at his feet to the wide, anxious eyes of his Guide. Reaching out, he touched Blair's sodden hair and noted that his coatless friend was shivering with shock and chill. Slipping out of his own coat, he draped it around Blair's shoulders, then pulled Sandburg against him in wordless relief to have arrived in time to have saved his life. With his enhanced sense of sight and his own expertise as a marksman, he'd known from the angle of the weapon that that last shot had been meant to kill._

 _It had been close._

 _Too close._

 _"I'm fine," he assured his partner, but frowned at the feel of Blair shivering in his arms. "But you are freezing... come on... let's get you back to the cabin and warmed up."_

 _Blair was nodding wearily in agreement when Ellison suddenly stiffened and shoved him hard back toward the trees he'd just emerged from, hissing, "RUN!"_

 _Jim had heard the soft snap of a twig and then, listening more intently, the slight rustle of clothing, the only sound that gave away the stealthy approach of several men. Grabbing up the dead man's rifle, hanging back, hoping to buy Blair time, Ellison prepared to face whatever this new threat posed. Crouching to merge better with the wild growth around him, he strained to make out the shapes that flitted like shadows toward his position. Dressed in those dark purple-splotched fatigues, they weren't easy to spot, but he counted seven, all heavily armed. Even as he assessed the odds and options, part of his mind was tracking Blair's progress as he headed deeper into the forest... but then his friend's steps slowed and stopped as he realized Jim wasn't following him. Cursing to himself, he hoped Sandburg wasn't going to do something foolhardy like come back to render whatever assistance he could._

 _But the sudden jump in Blair's heart rate warned him that something else was wrong. Easing back and away from those approaching from the east, he turned to race after his Guide, knowing instinctively that Sandburg was in danger._

 _He saw them before they saw him and his heart faltered at the sight of more of these damned soldier wannabe's, five of them. Sandburg must have ended up surrounded before he'd known what was happening, and all the Academy training in the world didn't prepare someone to take on that many armed and dangerous men single-handed and unarmed. Now, one of them was standing behind Sandburg, one arm around Blair's throat while holding a gun to his friend's head. His throat dry with fear, Ellison scanned the area, looking for something, anything that would give him an idea of how to take out the threat without compromising Blair's safety. But, the others were getting closer, approaching from behind him, and he could hear still more off to the west, circling in tighter._

 _They were surrounded, out-numbered and out-gunned._

 _There was nowhere to go._

 _"I know you're out there," the man holding Blair called out, his voice oddly familiar to the Sentinel's ears. "Show yourself or I'll kill your little buddy."_

 _Sandburg's eyes flickered from the gun he could just barely see out of the corner of his eye, to the forest around him. His captor held him firmly in place, one arm locked tightly around his throat, uncomfortably like the way Jim had been restraining the man who had died just a few minutes ago. It was hopeless and Sandburg knew it... Jim couldn't save him and would only get himself killed if he surrendered. Blair's eyes were wide and dark with fear, his face pale and strained, as his lips moved, the breath of words so soft none but Ellison could have heard him. "Don't, Jim... he'll just kill us both," he protested, urging his best friend to remain hidden and safe._

 _Ellison could hear the terrified hammering of his Guide's heart and he closed his eyes briefly at the passionate sincerity in his best friend's voice as Blair warned him away even knowing that his own life would be forfeit. Straightening, Jim stepped out of the shadows then let the weapon in his hand drop to the ground._

 _"Oh man," Blair sighed in despair as he saw Jim move forward, surrendering himself._

 _It was only then that the man standing behind Blair shifted enough for Ellison to make out his features, and the Sentinel's blood ran cold at the sight of that well remembered and much despised face. At the sudden flash of hatred in the other's eyes, Jim realized he'd just been recognized in turn._

 _"Well, well, this is an unexpected surprise. Captain James Ellison, late of Covert Operations... I had hoped to never see you again... at least, not alive," Jefferson Emery stated, his voice laced with venom._

 _"Jeff," Ellison acknowledged, his eyes scanning the other man, the contempt in his gaze clear. "I'd heard you were dead."_

 _"Funny thing about a mutilated and immolated corpse... hard to tell if the body really matches the dog-tags," Emery replied coldly. "I hear they never did 'find' poor Wilson's body... what a shame."_

 _His face expressionless, his own eyes now flat and cold, Ellison nodded marginally. He'd always wondered if the body found in the wreck had been Wilson rather than Emery. They'd been on the way to apprehend the then Sergeant Emery on suspicion of a particularly gruesome murder when it had been discovered that he'd apparently died in a fiery car crash. Taking in the insignia on the other man's uniform, Jim observed dryly, "I see you've given yourself a promotion."_

 _"One I felt was well deserved," Emery smirked. "Now, tell me, what are you and this hippy freak doing wondering around on this mountain?" To give incentive to Ellison to tell him the truth, Emery ground the muzzle of his revolver hard enough into Sandburg's temple to make the police consultant flinch._

 _Holding Emery's eyes with his own, letting his anger be seen, Ellison replied with a harsh tone, "We came up to enjoy some fishing at a friend's cabin. Your idiot scout shot and killed our friend and then started a game of cat and mouse... unfortunately for him, the mice won."_

 _"Uh huh," Emery murmured, his eyes narrowing as he wondered if there were other 'mice' in the neighbourhood. Still, Ellison's story lined up with the one the scum he'd ambushed had panted out to him. One moved by fear, the other by the emotion of hate... he decided he believed them... maybe._

 _Having heard the others approaching through the forest, Ellison wasn't surprised when almost a dozen men emerged from the shadows around them._

 _"Colonel Emery," one called out. "What do you wish done with the prisoners, Sir?"_

 _Emery continued to gaze icily at Ellison for a long moment as if considering something, then flicked his gaze to Blair as he said harshly, "I've no use for this one... take him and shoot him."_

 _"NO!" Jim exclaimed, unable to stop the protest even if he'd wanted to. "Look... he's no threat to you. Let him go."_

 _A frosty smile of satisfaction played over Emery's lips, as he replied, "No, he's certainly no threat. But, I'm hardly such a fool as to let him go so that he could bring back reinforcements. Besides, you killed one of my men. It seems only just that I kill one of yours in retribution." Casting a contemptuous look at Sandburg's hair, he added, "If those weren't already sufficient reasons to terminate him, there's another. This faggot offends me."_

 _Scared as he was, Blair couldn't help rolling his eyes as he retorted, "Hey, I bet I have better luck with the ladies than you do, man."_

 _Emery lashed out with the speed of a snake as he clubbed Blair with the barrel of his revolver, driving the younger man to his knees. Jim took a step forward but froze when Emery leveled the weapon at him. Looking from Ellison down to the hippy, Emery smiled again, though the expression held no warmth. "He really is a friend of yours, isn't he?" he asked rhetorically. "You always did have a regrettable liking for trash."_

 _Jim shook his head as he looked away, evaluating the odds, not liking them much. If he started something now, he'd only succeed in getting them both killed. As his swept the others in the small clearing, his enhanced sight picked up a flicker of movement farther back in the shadows. Simon! Letting his gaze continue to drift, keeping his expression carefully impassive, he shifted his cold stare back to Emery, waiting for him to make the next move._

 _"Sergeant Stephens, any sign of other intruders in my forest?" Emery snapped out, confident his men would have picked up the signs of any others if there were more 'mice' in the area. "No Sir, everything is secure, Sir!" Stephens replied with professional panache._

 _Once again, the blond Emery studied Ellison with cold and calculating blue eyes, then waved down toward Blair as he called to his men, "Bring them both to the camp."_

 __

* * *

_Simon had approached stealthily, hearing the strange voices. He passed the corpse in the small glade with barely a second glance as he edged carefully closer to see what they were up against. Counting the number of heavily armed men in the small clearing ahead, he shook his head. Far too many to take on, especially given that Ellison and Sandburg had already been taken and he didn't have a weapon._

 _When the others moved out, he followed at a discreet distance, wary of others that might be lurking in the shadows. Fifteen minutes later, they strode into their camp and Simon swore under his breath. Well camouflaged under the trees, it would be virtually invisible from the air though it was large enough to accommodate forty or fifty men. His eyes narrowed as he studied the military-style temporary compound of tents and transport trucks and then he moved back to circle widely around the perimeter, trying to determine if there was any way of approaching with little likelihood of detection... and concluded there wasn't. Sentries were posted at regular intervals and they looked like they knew how to stay alert._

 _Fading back into the forest, Simon picked up his pace, hastening back to the cabin about three miles away. He'd ordered the others to take Henri directly to the hospital, but that still left one vehicle. He needed to get back to that village they'd passed about twenty miles from highway cutoff to the cabin, to call for reinforcements._

 _As he loped through the dense wood with ground eating strides, Simon felt fear curdle in his stomach. He'd heard the soldier address the officer as 'Colonel Emery'._

 _Emery was the so-called commander of the Patriots for Racial Purity._

 _Simon, like every other cop in America, knew the PRP didn't take prisoners or hostages. They simply killed whoever stumbled inadvertently into their path. From the reports he'd read, he knew that whenever time permitted, their victims died slowly, after being brutally tortured. At the thought of the fate that faced Ellison and Sandburg, he pushed himself to a faster pace. It would take time to bring in the force required to take that crowd... too much time._

 _He didn't want to think about what Jim and Blair would have to endure while that time passed._

 _He wouldn't even begin to consider the dismal odds of them surviving the raid when the camp was attacked._

 __

* * *

_All the way back to the camp, Emery had studied his two prisoners with considerable interest. Ellison's protective instincts toward the younger man were blatantly obvious. He'd helped the hippy back to his feet, then steadied him with a strong arm around his shoulders, supporting him as they made their way through the forest. He'd heard the smaller man murmur, "Sorry, Jim," for having been caught and used to force Ellison's surrender. "Not your fault, Chief," Ellison had replied, his tone surprisingly gentle._

 _"You know that psycho?" Blair had asked then, his voice low as his eyes skittered over the men who surrounded them._

 _"Not now, Sandburg," Ellison had replied, knowing that any discussion would only attract unwanted attention and further abuse._

 _Emery and the others who heard the name stiffened with an almost visceral loathing. A Jew. The hippy faggot was also a Jew. Cold eyes flicked over Blair and then shifted to Ellison, wondering how he could stand to touch the scum._

 _By the time they arrived at their destination, Emery had decided on the entertainment for the evening. He licked his lips unconsciously in anticipation. It would be interesting to see how far Ellison, the 'holier than thou, righteous' Ellison, would go to protect the life of that animal he considered a friend. Very interesting, indeed, Emery thought with icy cruelty._

 _They took their prisoners to the center of the compound, an open square of cleared ground. Moving forward, Emery gestured at Ellison as he ordered, "Restrain him." Then, turning his attention to Sandburg, he snapped, "Beat him... but not to death... not yet."_

 _Even as rough hands pulled Blair away from him, Jim erupted in a frenzy of fury, lashing out at those who came at him and he did some damage. Sandburg, too, was holding his own, putting to good use the lessons learned in the unarmed combat physical training sessions at the Academy, until the sheer weight of numbers overwhelmed him. But the sudden, sharp report of a shot fired into the air startled everyone into stillness. Turning, Ellison froze at the sight of Emery once again holding a gun to Blair's head._

 _"Any more of that, and I'll kill him now," Emery promised._

 _Defeated, Jim let himself be caught and held in a tight grip while his hands were bound behind his back. Even then, two massive 'soldiers' gripped his arms tightly, holding him in place._

 _Blair held Jim's gaze with his own. The message was clear. If either of them resisted, the other would be killed in retribution. They could do nothing but endure and hope to get a lucky break to allow escape before they were killed... but, realistically, the odds of escaping didn't look good. Though he was very afraid, he was trying hard not to show it, trying not to give these bastards the satisfaction... trying not to make this any harder than it already was on Jim. But he knew his efforts to hide his terror from Jim were futile... hell, he was surprised that everyone couldn't hear his heart hammering in his chest, let alone a Sentinel who knew the sound of fear only too well._

 _The anthropologist felt men grab his arms, and then his view of Jim was blocked as a behemoth moved in front of him. After that, he simply tried to endure without humiliating himself by crying out in agony or begging for mercy._

 _Jim stood frozen, sick to his soul at the sound of the blows thudding into Sandburg's body, the crack of ribs and the muffled moans that Blair couldn't quite suppress as hard as he tried to suffer in silence. The Sentinel held onto his sanity by reminding himself that the beating was meant to torment... not kill._

 __

* * *

_Panting for breath, Simon slammed into the cabin and stumbled to the counter to grab up the keys Ellison had tossed there when they'd first arrived. Rushing back out to the truck, he jumped in and, after turning it back onto the rutted lane, he gunned it, driving with reckless speed along the narrow track._

 _Cursing the isolation that only a few short hours ago had seemed such a blessing, he gripped the wheel tightly, lurching with the hard bumps, keeping his foot pressed hard on the accelerator. Ignoring the sound of rocks and tree trunks scraping off the paint and denting the truck as he hurled around tight curves, he figured a few minor repairs would be the least of Ellison's worries, even assuming he could get the detective and his partner out of this alive._

 _Finally, after what had seemed an eternity of time, Simon pulled out onto the paved two-lane highway. The speedometer hovered between 100 mph and 120 mph as he raced toward the village twenty miles away._

 __

* * *

_When Sandburg lost consciousness, beating him ceased to be amusing. Emery called a halt to the abuse, then ordered his men to strip the battered man and stake him out._

 _Grateful that his best friend was no longer able to feel the pain of the beating, Ellison stood as rigid as a statue, his face devoid of expression, but his eyes burned with a passionate hatred for the men who had brutalized Sandburg and were now stripping him in preparation for some new torture. Jim tried not to imagine what that might be, knowing it could be anything from whips and chains to knives to fire... to sexual assault. Clenching his jaw, he forced down the bile that rose in his throat. So long as they were alive, there was hope. Simon and the others would have gone for help long ago. It was only a matter of time before the good guys moved in on these bastards._

 _Only a matter of time until justice could be done._

 _They just had to focus on staying alive._

 _Jim's glare of hatred shifted from the strangers manhandling Sandburg to Emery, and if looks could kill, the self-styled 'colonel' would have expired on the spot. Ellison promised himself that if given the chance, he'd make absolutely certain that Emery didn't escape justice again. The man was a monster, pure and simple. As he stood stiff with tension, Jim wondered whether his ethics would prove strong enough to keep him from killing Emery should the opportunity to do so arise._

 _Aware of Ellison's hatred, and reveling in his old enemy's helplessness, Emery returned the glare with a cold smile as he reflected that Ellison was only beginning to know what true hatred felt like. Once Blair was tied, his limbs spread-eagled and bound to four stakes pounded into the ground, Emery sauntered over to look down upon the unconscious man with cold appraisal. Bruises were already beginning to darken the young man's face and body, though they could hardly be seen through that thick pelt of hair on his chest. Dispassionately, he noted the long lashes and sensuous mouth, the broad brow and really quite beautiful bone structure... the mass of riotous chestnut curls that framed his head. The musculature was good as well, he looked sturdy and strong, even athletic._

 _Lifting his head to regard Ellison, he called out to his men, "Bring a bucket of clean water, a cup and a cloth, then release Ellison to see to his friend."_

 _Startled, Jim couldn't keep a slight frown of consternation from puckering his brow, wondering what Emery was up to now. The man didn't have an ounce of mercy in his soul. 'Tried and true methods for keeping hostages off-balance' he thought, 'alternating cruelty with kindness.' Nevertheless, deep inside, the Sentinel was relieved to know he'd be allowed to see to the needs of his Guide... and tending to Blair would use up more time, every minute of which brought them closer to freedom. Any minute that could be spent on ministering to his friend was a minute less of any further torture that Blair would be made to suffer, and for that, he was bitterly grateful._

 _As soon as his bindings were released, Jim moved forward to kneel beside his best friend. Ignoring the cold eyes of their captors, Ellison traced his sensitive fingers over Blair's head and body, glad to find there didn't seem to be any serious injuries, just superficial bruising and what felt like one cracked rib. He dipped the cup into the bucket and set it aside, then wetted the cloth. With conscious gentleness, he washed the dirt from Sandburg's face and tended to the cuts and abrasions left by the rings on the fists of his abusers. When Blair moaned softly as he came back to consciousness, Jim slipped a hand under the back of his head, lightly stroking Sandburg's brow to ease him back to awareness._

 _"Easy, Chief," he murmured quietly._

 _Blair blinked then grimaced in pain. Clearing his throat and licking his dry lips, he whispered, "Jim?" Then, as awareness of being bound hand and foot intruded on his consciousness, his eyes widened with alarm, and he shivered in the cool afternoon breeze._

 _Reaching for the cup of water, Ellison supported his friend's head as he held the clay mug to Blair's lips. "Just take it slow, Sandburg..."_

 _Grateful, Blair had started to gulp the water in his thirstiness, but slowed at Jim's words of caution. When he'd had enough, he turned his head away slightly, murmuring softly, "What's going on... why am I naked?"_

 _"I don't know," Jim replied quietly, aware of the avid attention of the men surrounding them. For a moment, the two friends gazed silently into each other's eyes, sharing sorrow at the pain they knew the other was suffering, and strength in their resolve to endure this... to somehow find a way to survive it._

 _"It's okay," Blair whispered so softly none but Jim could hear. "Whatever they do... it's okay. I'll be okay. Just don't zone out on me, all right? Dial down your senses... don't watch, or listen."_

 _Ellison's grip on the back of his neck tightened for a moment as the Sentinel's jaw clenched in helpless frustration. Swallowing, he murmured back, "Don't worry about me... you just... just..."_

 _But, his voice faltered, his throat too thick with fear of what might be done to his friend to continue._

 _Blair had to close his eyes for a moment against the raw pain he saw in Jim's eyes... and the guilt. "Not your fault, man," he sighed. "This is bigger than both of us."_

 _A shadow fell over them as Emery approached. "Very touching... _very_ touching," he drawled sarcastically._

"Go to hell," Sandburg snarled back, refusing to be cowed. They could beat him, strip him and tie him down, but he'd be damned if they'd break his spirit... or his Sentinel's spirit.

Emery laughed, then drew out his gun and fired it, the bullet burying itself in the earth less than an inch from Sandburg's ear.

Jim lunged to his feet, instinctively standing protectively between his Guide and the monster who threatened him, his urge to attack only held in check by Blair's sharp exclamation, "Jim, STOP! He'll kill you."

"Pretty and smart, too," Emery baited Jim. "I can see why you... ' _like_ ' him." When Ellison refused to rise to the implied insinuation in Emery's tone, the man continued, "But, how much, I wonder? Let's find out shall we? What will you do to keep him alive?"

Swallowing, his jaw tight, Jim asked hoarsely, "What do you want me to do?" When Emery just smiled, Ellison wondered what deviltry the monster had in mind... more specifically, he wondered if Emery wanted him to kill someone.

But, he was staggered when the order came. "Suck him off... then fuck him... or watch me blow his brains out."

Behind him, Jim heard Blair gasp, then could hardly believe it when his friend actually laughed, albeit a little hysterically as he spluttered, "Oh man, you must be out of your mind if you think that would even be _possible_... I mean... what with all the spectators, and the guns. Jesus, you are one sick bastard."

Coolly stepping to one side, Emery snapped off another shot before Jim could react and Blair yelped in startled pain as the bullet grazed his shoulder. Jim whirled at the sharp cry, his breath trapped in his lungs until he saw that the injury wasn't serious.

"I mean it, Ellison... do it, or he's dead," Emery said with deliberate brutality.

And Jim knew he meant every word.

Blair's wide blue eyes stared up with naked fear into Jim's wretched gaze, and he swallowed hard. His breath tight in his chest, Blair panted, "Oh, God, Jim..."

Ellison dropped to his knees, and his hand reached to cup Blair's chilled, pale cheek. "I _can't_ let him kill you," he choked out. "God, _help_ me... _I can't let him_..."

Understanding that the plea for help wasn't to the Almighty but to him, Blair's eyes skittered away as he looked in horror at all the armed men who surrounded them. When he looked back at Jim, he replied hoarsely, his mouth parched with fear, "Jim... I wasn't kidding, man... I really don't think I can rise to the occasion, if you get my drift, with this kind of audience. Oh, Jesus, Jim, I'm sorry."

Ellison took a deep breath to steady himself. Licking his own dry lips, he shook his head sharply at Sandburg's apology. God... the kid had nothing to be sorry for. He was the victim here.

"Get on with it," Emery ordered as he ostentatiously slid another round into his revolver.

 

* * *

 

Ellison closed his eyes. The time for shock and outrage, horror and despair was past. Now was the time for action... the only action open to him. "Blair, close your eyes," Jim murmured, forcing himself to speak steadily, calmly. "Forget that anyone else is here."

But Sandburg just shook his head, unwilling to play the coward. If Jim could face this with his eyes wide open, so could he. He kept his gaze locked on Jim's as he felt his best friend's large, strong hands begin to caress his face, and then his shoulders, kneading gently, loosening muscles tight with fear. Sandburg forced himself to take a deep, cleansing breath, and then another, willing himself to relax his muscles... to focus only on the touch of Jim's gentle fingers as they played over his body.

'It's just a physical orientation and biological preferences,' he told himself sternly as he tried not to flinch at the touch of another man's hands, even Jim's hands, caressing him so intimately. Neither of them felt that homosexual practices were necessarily immoral... it just wasn't who or what _they_ were. This wasn't about thinking these acts were wrong. It was about the gut level aversion of the heterosexual male in their culture for performing such intimate acts with another man. Well, he had to get past that aversion ... or he'd die. It was as simple as that. 'All through time, warriors have sought strength in one another's bodies. This isn't wrong... it's necessary.'

But, even if he could endure this, reducing it in his mind to an anthropological analysis of cultural taboos, Blair couldn't begin to imagine the horror, the aversion, _Jim_ must be feeling. All he had to do was lie here and accept what was happening. Jim had to do all the work. A sob threatened as he grappled with the reality that they were both being raped... _and_ that they were being forced to do it to one another. Aloud, but only for his Sentinel's ears, he asked in a trembling whisper, "Can you do this... without despising me later?"

Nodding, Jim replied steadily, "I can do whatever I have to do to keep you alive." Finding the strength to offer a crooked grin to ease Blair's fear and to try to relax him further, he added, "Hell, kid, I might not be in love with you... but I love you. And, while we might both be virgins here, we also both know what turns a man on."

Despite the bizarre horror of their situation, Blair snorted with surprised laughter. " _Virgins?_ " he spluttered. But the laughter ended in a sob he couldn't restrain as tears glistened in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion, "for loving me enough to do this..."

"Easy, Blair," Jim whispered back as he bent to kiss his friend's brow. "I'll try not to hurt you..."

Blair's glance darted away as he trembled at Jim's words. He had no idea, really, what to expect but he knew his friend was right... this was going to hurt... physically for sure, emotionally more than he wanted to think about. He was scared, hell, he was terrified to the depths of his soul. But it wasn't like they had a lot of choices here. They both needed to be strong to get through this. He was aware that Jim's hands were still moving over his body, doing what was necessary to keep him alive, no matter how much this had to scare him, too. Knowing without any doubt how much it had to hurt Jim to know that he was going to cause his friend and Guide pain, when his every instinct was always and only to protect, Sandburg found he was finally able to master his own fear... and accept this, as Jim was accepting it, as an act of unparalleled love.

Blair reminded himself that he was the Guide... it was up to him to make their destination crystal clear. Sandburg took another deep breath, then locked his trusting gaze with the compassionate blue eyes that sought his own. Jim needed to know he was able to accept this... that they could both survive it. " _You cannot hurt me, Sentinel. When I am with you, I am safe_ ," Blair murmured, his voice now steady and strong as he softly repeated the words he'd spoken months ago in the jungle. " _If you are there for me, I am comforted. If you love me, then I am complete._ "

Moisture glistened in Ellison's eyes as he nodded in understanding of the license Blair was giving him to do what was necessary, that it would be alright if they could just get through this alive. Bending his head, he leaned down to add the caress of his lips and tongue to the sensual stroking of his hands as he worked patiently over Blair's body. He reminded himself that there was no rush... indeed, the more time he could take, the more time he bought for Simon to find them... rescue them. Though he'd not had a chance to tell Blair that he'd spotted Simon in the forest soon after they'd been captured, he knew without any doubt their superior, their _friend_ , was even now moving heaven and earth to win their freedom.

Ellison ignored the catcalls and crude suggestions offered spitefully by the audience of terrorists who were so fervently eager to see them debase themselves. Taking his time, relaxing Blair as much as possible while stimulating his body, he kissed Blair's throat, his sensitive lips feeling the rapid pulse there as his hands stroked Sandburg's shoulders and arms. He moved to caress Blair's body, taking great care over the areas mottled by bruises, then licked and sucked at one small nub until it hardened under his ministrations, his fingers playing with its twin. He felt and heard Blair's breathing deepen and he could see and feel the flush begin as the heat built in Sandburg's body, an autonomic response to the sexual stimulation. His hands moved down over Blair's hips and abdomen, his tongue moving to delve into his navel. Moving lower still, he stroked Sandburg's thighs with long, slow movements as he prepared himself for the next, and so far, most difficult move. He had to touch Sandburg's genitalia as a lover would without any trembling or aversion, with calm, matter of fact, assurance, or Blair wouldn't be able to get through this... would sense the turmoil in his Sentinel and stop him, to protect him from violating a profound and personal boundary of belief and behaviour regardless that the alternative meant his own death.

He held Sandburg's life in his hands.

That was all that really mattered here, reducing any and every other issue to ashes.

Steadying himself with a deep breath, Jim gently grasped Blair's heavy scrotum, massaging with a tender but certain grip as he again sucked at one nipple, then the other. Then his questing fingers moved with steady purpose to firmly grasp Sandburg's filling shaft even as he shifted to bring his mouth down to cover Blair with moist warmth. He heard Blair gasp at the sensations as his hips jumped in irresistible response. Relieved that Blair was responding, however much the situation horrified him at the same time, Ellison drew Blair deeply into his mouth even as his right hand drifted between Sandburg's legs. Cursing the lack of any lubricant, now while Blair was overwhelmed with sensual sensations was the time to begin relaxing the sphincter muscles, he knew, as he eased a finger into his friend's body.

Throughout it all, Sandburg concentrated on his breathing, his gaze shifting between watching Jim and lifting to the darkening sky above. He willed himself to ignore the men around them, to remember that this was Jim, and Jim would never do anything to hurt him. Gradually, his body succumbed and responded as if of its own accord. His hips began to move in response to the primal rhythm of Jim's hand and mouth, and he felt the tentative, gentle invasion of his body, followed by a flash of sensual pleasure that took his breath away. No longer able to watch Jim having to do this, he finally closed his eyes and released the last of his control and resistance, allowing his body to take over as his hips thrusted up with the increased urgency of the physical need for completion. As the sensations that washed through his body built to climax, he gasped in warning, " _God... I'm coming..._ " and couldn't restrain a moan of despair as he spurted into his best friend's mouth.

Jim closed his eyes as he captured the salty, viscous fluid in his mouth, his right hand moving to rapidly loosen his belt and open his trousers. Pulling himself free, his lifted his head and spat the liquid into his hand, knowing this would be the only lubrication allowed them. "Easy, Chief, it's alright," he whispered, understanding Blair's humiliation and grief. Then, as he coated himself and worked to bring on his own erection, he lifted eyes burning with hate to Emery as he ordered harshly, "Untie his ankles."

Emery signalled to one of his men to do what was demanded as he taunted, "Having a good time, Ellison?"

But the murderous look he received in return chilled even his shrivelled soul.

Jim forced his eyes away from this loathed enemy as he willed himself to focus on what he had to do, his only concern in this moment to make it all as easy as he could for Sandburg. He had to fight back the revulsion for the act being forced upon them, swallowing the bile in his throat, breathing deeply to quell the nausea that roiled in his gut. He couldn't afford to give in to his natural reactions to what was about to happen. Blair's life depended on his ability to do what was required. Breathing deeply, he pressed his eyes closed as he fought to conjure up images that would arouse him while his knowing fingers gripped and pumped with the necessary friction to stimulate his body. The breath caught in his chest as he felt his body respond and he was shamefully grateful that sometimes the animal within could just take over. Then he shifted to kneel between Blair's legs, lifting his friend's hips onto his thighs. His jaw tight, fighting for control in every sense of the word, Ellison began to prepare his friend for entry.

Sandburg bent and spread his knees to help give Jim the access he needed. It had grown dark, and someone had lit fires in the square to illuminate their cruel entertainment. His face pale in the flickering light, his eyes wide and his lips parted to drag in the air he needed, Blair kept his gaze locked on Jim's face. He willed himself to relax as he felt Jim's fingers opening him up, wincing silently and biting his lip to keep himself from crying out at the discomfort. 'It's going to get worse before it gets better,' he warned himself stoically.'Breathe, just breathe.'

Beyond the reality of his own humiliation and pain, he was worried about Jim, who was keeping his eyes averted, as if ashamed. "Jim," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Jim... look at me," he commanded. When his Sentinel's eyes finally, reluctantly, lifted to meet his own, he went on, "You don't have to do this if it's too much..."

Ellison let out a sobbing breath. "I know I'm hurting you..." he whispered, not caring if the others heard or not. "God, Blair... I'm so sorry..."

Sandburg shook his head as he held Jim's anguished gaze with his own. "Nothing _you_ do can hurt me," he said quietly, firmly. "There's nothing for _you_ to be sorry for... you're trying to save my life... _remember that_."

Ellison closed his eyes and nodded as he dragged in a deep breath. Sandburg was as ready as he could make him.

Blair choked back his own sob, knowing at this moment his Sentinel needed him more than ever before. The Guide would have rather died than cost his best friend this, but his death would only hurt Jim even more, and he knew that. They had to get through this... neither of them had any choice. He steeled himself for the physical pain that he knew was coming, determined to take it, absorb it, to make this as easy for Jim as he possibly could.

"Jim!" Blair called softly but sharply. "Look at me... just keep looking at me... it will be all right."

Swallowing, Ellison opened his eyes and gazed down into dark blue pools of trust and unconditional love. Nodding slowly, he held Blair's eyes, gaining strength from his Guide as, using his sense of touch, he guided himself forward and eased into his friend's body. But, he froze when he felt Blair stiffen at the pain of the invasion, wondering how he could do this... knowing with a grim and guilty awareness that he _had_ to do it.

Blair swallowed against the incredible, excruciating pain that rose within him at the moment of penetration. Gritting his teeth, breathing deeply to ready himself, knowing what had to be done to help, he lifted his legs, wrapping them around Jim's waist... and with a determined, deliberate thrust of his hips, he impaled himself, pulling Jim deeply inside. Despite his determination to bear it, the agony ripped through him and his body arched, his head thrown back baring his throat, and he couldn't restrain the guttural groan of pain that escaped his lips. Forcing it away, he again sought Jim's eyes, reading the horror there. Panting for breath, keeping his eyes locked with Jim's, he whispered hoarsely, "This _can't_ hurt me, not in _any_ way that's important. I love you, Jim... _it's all right._ "

Grasping Sandburg's narrow hips with his large hands, Ellison swallowed hard and drew in a deep breath, too conscious of the tight heat that gripped him. With a shudder, he began to pump his hips, slowly, hesitantly, at first, but the tempo increased as his need for release built, immeasurably grateful as Sandburg moved to match his thrusts, helping him to get through this as quickly as possible. Throughout this most intimate of acts, they held one another's eyes, wilfully oblivious of the avid stares of the men around them who revelled in their malicious enjoyment of this hideous torment.

A tear slipped down Jim's cheek, unheeded, not really even noticed, bearing mute witness to his grief. He groaned and shuddered as his body found release, then lowered himself to cover Blair's nakedness with his body, burying his face in Sandburg's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his best friend as he wept silently.

Wishing his arms weren't restrained by the ropes, Blair could only murmur, "It's all right... easy, Jim... it's all right."

But the shadow falling over them, blocking the light of the flames, drew his attention and his eyes widened in horror as he cried out, " ** _NO!_** "

Jim started to rise in response to Blair's cry, but the butt of the rifle came down hard, grazing his skull and stunning him. He dropped heavily back down onto Sandburg, but rough hands grabbed his arms and dragged him away, binding his wrists behind his back. In his terror for his Guide, he shook his head to clear the fog that threatened to pull him into unconsciousness, but it was Blair's scream of rage that finally and fully drove the darkness away. " ** _SANDBURG!_** " he cried out, desperate to know what was happening.

"Let him watch," Emery called out, and the men between him and his bestfriend broke apart, giving him a clear view of the unfolding horror.

Sandburg was twisting and kicking violently at the man who was trying to rape him while another knelt over his chest as he pinched Blair's nose to force his mouth open. Two more men moved in to grab his legs and hold them apart. When he gasped for breath, the guy sitting on his chest rose above him, forcing his engorged shaft down Sandburg's throat. Gagging, repulsed beyond reason, Blair bit down as hard as he could, feeling a surge of triumph at the hoarse, guttural scream. He released the death grip of his teeth, revolted by the taste of blood, and spat it out as soon as his mouth was empty. He heaved and yelled, cursing the men who held him down, scarcely aware of Jim's enraged bellows of helpless fury.

Emery grabbed Blair's hair and yanked his head back, forcibly turning his face so that he could see the men restraining Jim... and the knife that was being lifted to his best friend's throat.

" ** _NOOO!!!_** " Sandburg screamed.

"Then settle down," Emery snarled. "You'll take what we give you without resistance or he dies."

Defeated, Blair sobbed in despair but he stopped struggling. When Jim still fought, wild with rage, Sandburg cried out, " **JIM! STOP! PLEASE!** " Ellison froze, his expression of raw anguish and terrible guilt at not being able to save his best friend, naked for all to see. " _They'll kill you, man..._ " Blair murmured brokenly. " _Don't watch... oh, God, please don't watch!_ "

Ellison sagged against those who held him in their relentless grip. " _I'm sorry,_ " he choked out, utterly devastated. " _Jesus, Blair..._ "

Blair trembled at the anguish in Jim's voice and wondered who faced the harder test of endurance... himself who was about to be ravaged brutally, or Jim, who had to witness it, helpless to intervene and stop the madness. His voice tight, cracking a little as he fought for control, reaching for the solace of grim humour, he murmured softly, "Hey, I just have to lie back and think of England, right? How hard can that be?"

Ellison moaned. Sandburg's incredible courage and attempt to give comfort even now, was shattering. How could he respond with less? If he couldn't save Blair from this hell on earth, the least he could do was honour his Guide's anguished request for some bleak measure of privacy... to not have this obscenity witnessed by any one who mattered to him.

Holding Blair's gaze for a single moment more of silent communion, Jim nodded tightly, then closed his eyes and turned his face away.

Horrified, grief stricken and overwhelmed with guilt that he couldn't save Sandburg from this, he kept his eyes averted... but that didn't mean he couldn't still hear it all... and his soul was shredded by the ugly sounds of his best friend's suffering.

 

* * *

 

Bound and helpless, Sandburg could do nothing but endure. They grabbed and punched him, bit his body and raped him brutally, over and over. He wanted to scream at their touch, at what they were doing to him, the pain and degradation overwhelming, but he couldn't. Jim... Jim had to endure this, too. So, he bit back the screams that lodged in his throat, and desperately tried to stifle moans as they bit his body, mute the grunts of agony when their fists pounded into him... when their bodies slammed into his. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing his suffering... nor would he willingly add to the torment being endured by his best friend.

At the thought of his friend, Blair couldn't help but remember what Jim had just been forced to do to him. But Jim had been gentle, respectful... not like what was happening now. Sinking away, trying to distance himself from what was being done to his body, Sandburg forcibly matched their touches, the pain they were causing him, with Jim's touch, over and over, substituting memory for reality. Those memories became a kind of shield that he held between himself and what they were doing to him. It helped him bear it for a while, made it endurable... for a while.

But the torture, the atrocity, went on and on. It was too much. He couldn't stand it anymore. God, he wished he could die, anything to escape this. Dying didn't really hurt, he knew that. Dying brought peace. Like the last time, when Mallory had shot him. The bullets had ripped into him, tearing his breath away... agony. And then encroaching death had distanced the pain. But Jim... Jim had come. Had held him with so much love. Had brought warmth and strength. And such terrible anguish at the thought of losing him. He'd fought death then, fought to hold on, not wanting to leave Jim, not ever wanting to leave him.

But his body rebelled, unable to tolerate the brutal abuse longer. For all he tried to hold onto the memories of Jim's touch, Jim holding him, keeping him secure, he couldn't endure here any longer. It was too much. They were killing him, physically and emotionally. Sandburg felt as if his heart would burst from his chest and he couldn't get enough air. He couldn't stand it any longer, couldn't stay here... couldn't endure this a moment more. 'Jim!' his mind cried out, tearing an unwilling sob from his body. 'I can't... God, help me, I can't... '

But, he couldn't abandon Jim, couldn't just give up. Unconsciously, he sobbed again, not from the humiliation or the pain of what they were doing to his body, but in his grief at what this was also costing his friend... his fear of what they'd do to his Sentinel when they were finished with him. If he died, their attention would shift from him... to his Sentinel.

It was unbearable, unendurable... but he couldn't die, couldn't let go.

Couldn't escape...

The torment took Sandburg to the edge of madness, and once again he found himself sinking into the solace of the memory of Jim holding onto him. The memory of the peace of it, the safety. Jim had come, had saved him... Jim would find a way to save him now. He just had to live. Just had to give his best friend, his Sentinel enough time. His frantic mind desperately sought escape, some place he could hide, rest, wait until Jim came for him.

The jungle... Blair pressed his eyes closed against the sight of them, willed away the burning, endless physical agony that erupted without respite in his body, and let himself go to the only place of peace accessible to him.

 

* * *

 

Simon had made the call to the FBI hours before, and then had tracked down the others at the local infirmary, reassuring himself that H., at least, was no longer in any danger. He brought Joel and Rafe up to date, bleakly unsurprised by their reactions of horrified understanding of the danger Ellison and Sandburg were in.

But there was nothing they could do until reinforcements arrived. Three against three or four dozen armed and murderous psychopaths were impossible odds and they'd only succeed in getting them all killed.

So all they could do was wait with increasingly desperate impatience for the back up they needed before they could move in and rescue their friends.

The hours dragged torturously, but finally FBI agents began to arrive in droves as the townspeople watched from behind curtains and doors, with increasing apprehension, wondering what was going on.

Finally, as dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, the plans were finalized and the small army of law enforcement personnel moved out of town.

 

* * *

 

The torture had seemed to go on forever. Even after it seemed that Blair had finally lost consciousness, they continued to abuse his body. Jim had had to fight his own mind and emotions to keep from sliding into the oblivion of a zone-out. How much abuse could one body take before the spirit decided it was too much and fled? The unwilling sounds of the torment rung from Blair, small gasps and groans of agony he couldn't quite suppress, were like daggers that ripped his own body... but the sobs, the sound of such hopeless despair, shattered the Sentinel's heart. At one point, Sandburg's heartbeat, which had been pounding at an impossible rate, skipped and faltered... and Ellison blotted out everything but that sound, willing it to continue, to not fail... to not stop. Suddenly, the frantic beating evened out, much slower but steady. Holding onto the sound of Blair's heartbeat to assure himself that his best friend still lived, Ellison maintained his focus and sanity by working with dedicated determination at his bonds, painfully stretching and loosening them, a little at a time, desperate to get free to wreak his revenge. Until, finally, the orgy of hate ended, their captors' sadistic and evil appetites at last sated.

Arrogant with their power, drunk with it and the drowsiness of sexual repletion, certain of the helplessness of their victims, the Patriots for Racial Purity didn't even bother posting a guard over them. Besides, there were sentries on the perimeter. No way could these two make any escape, and there was more fun to be had on the morrow, first to slowly torture the Jew-boy to death and then to break and destroy the Jew-lover.

As the camp finally quieted, Jim turned his gaze back to the center of the square as he listened to Sandburg's heartbeat and ragged breathing. It was nearly dawn before he finally worked his hands free, and only then because they were slick with blood from his abraded wrists, allowing him to pull one hand free of the rope that bound him.

His senses on full alert to detect any sign of observation, he moved stealthily to Blair's side. Quickly, he untied his partner's bound limbs, freeing Sandburg from the stakes that had held him against that cold patch of earth for far too long. He would have liked to kill every single last one of the brutes that had tormented and tortured Sandburg, but he couldn't afford the time to give in to his primal desire. Protecting the Guide, ensuring the safety and security of his best friend, came first.

As he gazed briefly at Sandburg's battered and bruised body, Ellison felt despair and guilt almost overwhelm him. Sandburg was alive. His job now was to keep him alive. Forcing his emotions away, having no time for them now, he grabbed up his coat from the tangled pile of Blair's discarded clothing and wrapped it gently around his unconscious friend's chilled body. Satisfied that they were still unobserved, he drew Sandburg into his arms, ruthlessly ignoring the agony he felt from muscles that had been bound for hours and protested this added burden.

Moving as quickly as he could, as silent as a wraith, he slipped out of the square, taking the shortest, most direct route past pitched tents into the forest that surrounded the camp. Once he'd reached the fragile security of the trees, he paused and listened as his eyes raked the area for sentries. If they were caught now, there'd be no hope of another escape. They'd be killed... but, unfortunately, not quickly. Easing forward carefully, soundlessly, holding Blair tight against his chest, he made his way further from the camp behind them.

When he picked up the sound of a sentry not far to the left, he froze, and then carefully bent to gently lay Blair in the shelter of a thick growth of low bushes. Silently, like an angel of death, the Sentinel moved in on his target. Without sound, or either compunction or regret, Ellison killed first one guard and then another... and finally a third, leaving their bodies where they fell, taking only their weapons and belts of ammunition slung over his shoulder, as he moved away.

 

* * *

 

The way ahead now clear, he went back and gathered Blair again into his arms. When he could hear the river, he turned toward it, quickening his pace. It was too light to continue much farther... they needed shelter, someplace to hide and avoid the detection of the hunting parties that would soon be coming after them. He had three fully loaded rifles and belts of ammunition as well as three sleek, sharp knives. Grimly, he promised himself that while he'd do his best to protect their lives, he'd kill Sandburg and then himself before he'd allow them to be taken captive again. Though the thought sickened him, Ellison held to the truth that he owed his friend that mercy... he couldn't allow Sandburg to suffer any more of their hideous cruelty... not when he knew without doubt that they'd kill Blair, as slowly and agonizingly as possible.

Finding a cluster of boulders on the edge of the water that suited his purposes, Jim finally let himself slip to the ground, his back against a tall, massive rock, Sandburg's torn and battered body cradled gently in his arms. Now that they were stationary and safe for the moment, Ellison could do what he'd so badly wanted to do ever since he'd knelt by Sandburg's side and cut him loose from the stakes. Carefully, gently, he checked his partner's body, not sure which impulse was the strongest... the one to weep or the one to be violently ill. Blair's face and body was mottled with bruises, abrasions and cuts. His nipples were raw from bites, and there was swelling along his side where his rib had been cracked in the first beating. Swallowing, Ellison found three more cracked ribs, but was relieved that none seem to have shattered. His friend's face was swollen, puffing painfully around the blackened eyes and where his lip had been bitten. And, he was still bleeding from inside, though the worst haemorrhaging seemed to be over. Carefully, he laid Sandburg down in the shelter of the rocks and stripping off his shirt, he knelt by the water, wishing it wasn't so freezing cold. He didn't want to chill his partner, but Blair felt feverish and Ellison wanted to clean the worst of his wounds before they became infected. Wringing out his sopping shirt, he knelt by Sandburg and carefully tended to him.

When he was finished, he tossed the bloody shirt aside and gathered Blair back into his arms, to lend his own body's warmth to that of the coat again wrapped tightly around his best friend. Light, gentle fingers stroked back Sandburg's hair and traced a delicate path over his brow and cheek as Jim called quietly, "Chief... it's all over... you can come back now. Sandburg... can you hear me?"

Ellison kept up his gentle ministrations, deeply worried that either Blair had sustained a head injury from the blows he'd taken, or that in a last act of self-preservation, had retreated to a place where no one could hurt him anymore.

Softly, he called again... and then again, needing to know his Guide was all right. Needing to know Sandburg could hear him and respond, but Sandburg remained unresponsive, lying limp and lifeless in his arms, his breathing so shallow... his heartbeat so slow.

Terrified that Sandburg's grip on life was too tenuous, that he would yet slip away, Ellison curled himself forward to hold his friend tightly against his chest, sheltering his Guide, giving him all the warmth he had, as he rested his head against the matted curls. "Where are you, Chief?" he whispered. "I... I don't know what to do. Please... where are you?"

Closing his eyes, exhausted, frightened, the Sentinel cast out his mind in search of his Guide... and found himself in the jungle.

Jim blew out a breath of shattering relief when he saw Sandburg sitting, naked, by the riverbank, his knees pulled up, his arms locked around his legs, his head lowered... curled tightly as if forcibly holding himself together.

"Chief!" he called out, loping across the distance that separated them, dropping to his knees beside Sandburg to enfold him in a tight embrace.

Blair had heard the call, and had pressed his eyes closed against the shaft of anguished relief that coursed through him and tried to contain the tears that filled his eyes. Jim had found him... that meant Jim was alive... that they were both safe or Jim wouldn't have come. But he couldn't seem to respond, couldn't move. Too afraid to look into his friend's eyes... afraid of what he'd see there.

For hours, he'd been sitting by this river, wondering when Jim would come, remembering all that had happened... what might still be happening in that other place. He'd been filled with self-loathing and inexpressible guilt for what his Sentinel had had to endure... was still enduring... as the minutes had crept by. Wondering, finally, if Jim would ever come for him... believing his friend was still alive, because he was still alive, but unable to imagine how his Sentinel could bear to ever see or touch him again.

Wondering if he'd ever see his beloved Sentinel again.

And now, Jim had come, was here... and holding him! Unconsciously, despising himself, Blair shrank away from the touch, not wanting to make Jim filthy by contact with him. "Don't," he moaned softly. "Don't touch me... don't look at me."

Shocked to feel his Guide shrink from his touch, stunned by the words, the Sentinel floundered, not sure what to do. For the first time, he was conscious of his own nakedness... and he shuddered. Surely, Blair didn't think... ! As if burned, devastated, Jim pulled his arms back, shifting away, putting space between them.

Blair looked up then, to see that look of appalled horror in the Sentinel's eyes, and had to close his own eyes against the pain of it, swallowing hard to push away the sob that had risen in his throat. He'd been right to think Jim could scarcely bear to be near him, to touch or see him. Jim had come out of duty, to find him... as he always had... as he always would. But this was too much. Too much for either of them to bear.

"Leave me," the Guide murmured, heartbreak in his voice. "Go back."

"No," the Sentinel refused, shaking his head, stricken to see his Guide so hurt, so filled with pain and sorrow. He didn't know what to do to help, but there was nothing in either heaven or hell that would ever induce him to abandon his Guide... or his best friend. "Never... not without you."

Sandburg shuddered at those words. How could he go back? How could he face the reality of what was waiting there? But he opened his eyes to look at his Sentinel and saw the determination in that steady gaze. No matter what had happened, he knew his Sentinel would not desert him. Would remain here with him, though it would ultimately mean they'd both die in that other place. He couldn't do that to his Sentinel ... the world needed him. He couldn't do it to Jim... Jim didn't deserve to die, not for him, not for this. Jim's courage and love had saved his life, though how he didn't immediately know. But, he did know, without doubt, his friend's selflessness and love had saved his spirit from being destroyed by those cruel, heartless, bestial, men. Whatever pain awaited him back in that other place, he owed it to Jim to lead him back, to do all he could to ensure the safety of his friend... his Sentinel.

Numbly, the Guide nodded slowly and stood, the Sentinel rising with him, one hand out to offer assistance if it be needed. Ignoring the wordless offer of support, the Guide said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation, "Fine... then let us return now." Turning away from the river, Blair thought that if Jim wouldn't abandon him here, then he'd just have to leave Jim, as soon as he was able, in what passed for the real world... the world that now seemed only a place of infinite pain and loss.

Jim opened his eyes and found himself sitting against the cold rock cradling Blair in his arms, shivering a little in the chill air.

Lifting his head to gaze at his friend with anxiety-filled eyes, he called softly, "C'mon, Chief... you said you'd come back. I need you... I need you to wake up for me."

A few moments later, Blair finally stirred and moaned, then stiffened in reflexive fear as consciousness returned.

"Shh, Chief, you're safe now," Jim murmured, then continued, hoping desperately that it was true, "You'll be all right."

"Jim?" Blair whispered, his voice raspy, uncertain, as he blinked against the light.

"I've got you... I won't let them hurt you anymore. I promise," Ellison replied, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Sandburg shuddered in his arms, trembling with the memories of the horrors he had endured, unable to restrain the tears that spilled silently down his pale, haggard and bruised face. " _Oh, God, Jim,_ " he choked, his fingers clenching the fabric of the coat that hid his nakedness, fighting to contain his emotions, holding on with all the strength he had.

"I know," Jim murmured brokenly, tightening his grip, curling a little forward to rest his cheek against the top of Blair's head. "It's over, Chief... rest now. Just rest."

Blair moaned softly as he curled himself as tightly as he could against his Sentinel, his body screaming with pain. Overwrought with emotions and exhaustion, the horror of what had occurred ripping at his soul, suffering from profound shock, Sandburg was beyond rationale thought, incapable of coherent speech. He could only hold on to the strength and shelter Jim provided until the darkness at the edge of his vision tunnelled in, finally granting him the only peace available to him as his consciousness slipped away.

Ellison found his own rigidly held control began to erode then, leaving him trembling, shivering as if with a deep, everlasting chill that permeated his being all the way to his soul. Holding onto his so devastatingly wounded friend... his _brother_... he wept silent tears of anguish and abiding sorrow... for his failure to protect Sandburg and for his inability to take away the pain that the one he loved most was suffering and might well suffer for the rest of his life.

Not quite an hour later, Ellison heard the sound of distant gunfire erupt and he knew Simon had finally made it back. Hatred rose to almost consume him as he wished with every fibre of his being that he could be there now... to render his own personal justice for what those animals had done to Sandburg. With great effort, he pushed the corrosive emotion away, focusing instead on his fervent hope that none of his friends would be injured in the battle that was being waged.

It was another three hours before the anxious searchers in the FBI chopper finally spotted them and airlifted them back to Cascade. One of the FBI rescuers shrugged out of his own jacket, insisting that Jim take it to cover his bare torso. During the journey, Ellison learned that Emery and his insane followers had refused to surrender, fighting back until every last one of them were dead... at the end, apparently Emery and a handful of remaining resisters had killed themselves rather than be taken.

Jim's expression was flat as he took in the news and he wondered why he didn't feel anything, nothing at all. Neither satisfaction nor a sense of retribution. Not relief... nothing.

But when he looked down at Blair's battered face, he understood the emptiness he felt at the news, why it was irrelevant. Alive or dead, what Emery and his men had done could not be undone. Both and he and Sandburg were going to have to find their own way back, their own peace with the memories... would have to find a way to deal with the horror and pain.

Because, if they didn't, Emery won... and Ellison would lose everything that most mattered to him.

Stroking Sandburg's hair back from his brow, Ellison vowed silently, "I won't let him win, Chief. I promise you... we'll get through this. Somehow, together, we are going to get through this."

 

* * *

 

Simon was waiting at the hospital, having been informed that Ellison and Sandburg had been found alive. He'd commandeered another chopper from the site of the massacre in order to be there when they brought his friends in. Joel and Rafe headed back to the small town where they would stay until H. could return home in another couple of days. Joel had volunteered to go back to the cabin to collect their gear and bring it all back to the city when they returned. Joel would also bring Ellison's truck back while Rafe drove the SUV.

When he saw Jim's state of devastation, and Blair's battered, unconscious condition, he knew it had been rough. But, when his observant gaze picked up that Sandburg was nude under the blanket that covered him, he wished he couldn't so clearly imagine some, at least, of what had likely happened. Caught between the role of friend and the role of supervisor, between being a man deeply anxious about people he cared about and a cop who needed information, for a moment, he couldn't find words. But, he wasn't the one who was hurt in this scenario and it was up to him to lend them strength, as much as he could.

"Jim," he said finally, quietly, "I'm glad the two of you are alive... you don't know how glad."

Ellison nodded wearily as they followed the gurney bearing Blair to the Emergency Unit. "Thanks, Simon," he replied. "I saw you in the forest and I knew you'd come back for us. We just had to stay alive long enough to give you time..."

Simon looped an arm around Ellison's shoulder, silently lending support as they walked the remainder of the way in silence. When they arrived in the Emergency Room, Jim introduced himself to the doctor and indicated that he would like Simon to stay while he reported what had happened to Blair. It would save having to tell it twice. The physician looked from one man to the other, then nodded in silent agreement as he bade them to follow along into the examining room where Blair was being transferred onto the narrow examining table.

For a moment, the doctor looked like he was considering ordering Ellison to lie down as well. The man looked like he'd been through hell and back. "So, Detective Ellison," he began. "What can you tell me about what happened to Dr. Sandburg?"

Ellison swallowed and took a deep breath and, with his eyes averted as he gazed down at Blair, he replied quietly, his voice unsteady, "We were taken captive by about fifty members of the terrorist group, the Patriots for Racial Purity. Blair is of Jewish heritage... that taken with his unconventional hair made him a particular target for abuse. They beat him savagely on several occasions, staked him out nude on the cold ground for a night and all of them took turns raping him. Except for a brief period early this morning, he's been unconscious since... well, since he just couldn't take any more last night."

Simon had moaned softly deep in his throat as he turned away, one hand covering his mouth as he fought back the nausea that gripped his gut. Eyes closed against the unwanted images, he knew he could not even begin to imagine how terrible it had been... for both men. No wonder Ellison looked so wasted. It must have just about killed him to not be able to stop that from happening. Taking a deep breath, ashamed of his own weakness, he quickly turned back to again lay a strong supporting arm around Jim's shoulders.

"I'm sorry," the doctor was saying with grave sincerity, his professional detachment hard pressed to hide his own disgust and despair at the suffering experienced by the unconscious man... and the friend who had had to witness it. He took a breath to steady himself, then continued, "If the two of you would wait out in the lounge, I'll see to Dr. Sandburg's needs. And, Detective Ellison, I will want to see you again... your friend is clearly not the only one who suffered or is in shock."

Pushing a hand through his short-cropped hair, Jim sighed as he replied, "I'm fine... just... just take care of him."

 

* * *

 

It was about three hours later when Jim and Simon were allowed to see Blair again, and by that time he'd been admitted and had regained consciousness. When they arrived at the door of the small, private room, they found Blair curled tightly on his side, his back to the door. An intravenous was running since he'd been badly dehydrated, and they knew his ribs had been taped. While the doctor had cleaned and bandaged Ellison's raw wrists, he'd explained that Blair had required some suturing both internally and externally, but the damage, while immediately painful, would heal. Since all of his assailants had been killed, he'd been spared the need for the acquisition of sperm samples for evidence. The physician had also reported that Blair had seemed withdrawn and depressed, which given the circumstances, wasn't to be unexpected. He'd be making a referral to the Outpatient Psychiatry and Psychology Unit for Blair to be seen before he left the hospital the next day. Other than that, they were assured that the injuries were not life-threatening ... well, not unless the HIV test came back positive.

Jim had trembled at the last statement. He knew he should have realized that would be a danger, but he hadn't gotten past the immediacy of what Blair had endured, hadn't thought that AIDS would be a possibility. 'Oh God,' he found himself praying, 'please, please don't let that happen to him... '

As they now paused in the doorway, Simon realized the two of them required privacy and excused himself, saying he'd be back to see Blair later in the afternoon, but would wait in the visitors' lounge for a while to see if either of them would be needing him to bring them anything from home for the night. It didn't even occur to him that Ellison would consider leaving the hospital before Blair was ready for discharge in the morning.

Jim accepted Simon's suggestions with silent gratitude. As his superior turned to head back down the hall, he made his way to Blair's bedside, moving around so that he could see Sandburg's face. Blair was just lying there, his eyes open, staring into space and didn't seem to realize he was no longer alone.

"Hey, Chief," Jim said quietly, moving forward to sit down facing his friend. "How are you holding up?"

Blair started slightly at the sound of his voice, but then replied, his voice oddly flat, "Oh... hi, Jim. I'm... I'll be fine." After a moment, he added, "I... I'm pretty stiff and sore, but the injuries aren't really serious."

'Not serious!' Jim protested silently, sick at the lifeless tone and the signs of abuse, both physical and emotional. Acutely conscious that Blair wasn't looking at him, wasn't making any eye contact at all, Jim reached out to gently grip his shoulder... and was devastated when Sandburg flinched at his touch, closing his eyes and trembling as if he couldn't bear it. As if he'd just been burned, Ellison pulled his hand back, and sat awkwardly, not understanding... assuming that after what had happened, that Sandburg couldn't stand to be touched by him. "Chief... I don't know what to do here. What can I do to help you?" he asked, his voice cracking a little.

The silence stretched between them until Blair finally replied, "I just need a little time. Would you... would you mind just going home? I'll see you tomorrow."

And still he had made no eye contact.

Uncertain, Ellison replied, "Blair... I don't want to leave you alone..."

"I'll be fine," Sandburg replied, his voice still distant, as if he wasn't quite there.

Swallowing, blinking against the burning in his eyes, afraid of this remote behaviour, Jim said quietly, "I'm... I'm sorry... I..."

But, Blair cut him off. "Don't!" he groaned sharply, as if in pain. "Please... just... I need some time..."

Not knowing what else to do, suspecting that Sandburg might very possibly loathe the sight of him, Jim nodded slowly, then stood. "All right, if that's what you want," he agreed quietly. "I'll be back in the morning." Pausing a moment, he added, "Chief... if you need anything... call me, all right?"

Wordlessly, Sandburg nodded, his eyes still focused on some distant place.

By the time Ellison had returned to the visitors' lounge to find Simon, he'd regained his fragile control and, in the process, had unconsciously assumed his old mantle of remote, cool, detachment. Concerned at the empty expression on Jim's face and in his eyes when he walked in, Simon stood, asking, "What's wrong?"

Ellison shrugged a little, pretending that he wasn't sure what Simon was getting at. Moving past the question, he said, his voice steady if a little flat, "Sandburg is... tired and just wants to rest quietly. He asked me to come back tomorrow. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could you give me a lift home?"

Regarding Jim warily, knowing that something he didn't fully understand was going on, Simon nodded. "Sure... if that's what you want," Simon replied, unable to believe Jim was leaving the hospital without so much as a whimper of protest... or that after all that had happened, that Blair would let him go.

"Thanks," Ellison replied and turned to lead the way back to the elevator.

 

* * *

 

After Jim had left, Blair continued to stare at the wall while he tried to cope with the maelstrom of memory, emotion and fractured, fragmented thoughts that raged within. He was exhausted emotionally and physically. He couldn't seem to think straight, couldn't focus and everything, every single muscle and bone in his body hurt.

Closing his eyes, he tried again to order his thoughts and sort out what he felt. But, each time he tried, the same thing happened. 'Jim," he'd think, then flinch as he remembered the terrible look on his best friend's face when they'd bound him and forced him to watch, well, if not watch, listen to all that had happened. Blair had never seen anything like that look... he couldn't find words to describe it. But, each time he remembered, he felt sick and helpless... and guilty. Maybe if he hadn't fought so hard when they'd first come at him, maybe it wouldn't have hurt Jim so much.

But then the blind haze of red fury would descend again as he remembered what they'd done to him. He'd never felt so... what? Helpless? Victimized? Filthy? How could Jim even stand to touch him anymore? God, if he could rid himself of this body and get a new one, one not so degraded, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

And it wasn't as if he could just hide it all away and somehow pretend it never happened. Everyone knew, or would know. Oh, he'd keep it away from Naomi... she was over on the other side of the world and wouldn't hear whatever got reported on the local or national news. But she had friends here... they'd tell her. 'Oh, God,' he thought, rubbing his forehead wondering how much of the details the news media had or could surmise. But even if he could contain the disaster with his mother, protect her and himself from her ever knowing... all the guys at work would know. They'd pity him... he couldn't bear that, couldn't stand the thought of seeing that in their eyes, of them knowing how he'd been used... abused.

Jim knew. Jim knew all of it.

Well, maybe not _all_ of it.

'He doesn't know how I stayed sane through it all,' Blair thought, then shuddered with emotion. Throughout the long, horrific, never-ending ordeal, Blair had held onto the memory of Jim's touch, focused on that, transposed in his mind their groping, pain-filled, ugly assaults with memories of Jim's kindness, gentleness and compassion... of Jim trying so hard not to hurt him. Trying so desperately hard to do it as respectfully as he could, to save Blair's life. Loving Blair enough to degrade himself by engaging in acts that no doubt made him sick to his soul to remember. And, later, when it all became too much, the memory of the last Jim had held onto him, desperately afraid, had enabled him to cling to sanity... and to life.

Tears blurred Sandburg's eyes and he trembled with the sobs he tried to repress. 'Love,' he thought. 'Jim's love... saved me... saved my sanity... saved my life...'

But, at what cost?

How could Jim live with what he'd been forced to do? Sandburg could distance it, rationalize in with some fancy anthropological interpretation of male bonding in times of extreme duress. But Jim didn't have any of those mental defences, no psychological hiding places.

'How can he stand to even look at me?' Sandburg wondered despairingly. 'If he knew that all I did was think of his touch while those men... he wouldn't understand. He'd think it's either because I equate what he did with what they did, when there's no comparison. He acted out of love... they acted out of hate. Either that, he'd imagine that I liked it when he did it. And I didn't. I hated what they made him do to me... hated it for _both_ of us. God, this is impossible,' he sighed, his thoughts again whirling into chaos.

And... 'What if I get sick? What if I get AIDS?' he thought, utterly devastated by the prospect. It would be a week before they got the test results back. If he did get sick, what then? Jim would want to care for him... would have to watch him waste away and die. Furious, frightened, Blair didn't want to die, not now, not ever like that... and he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain it would all cost Jim.

"Dr. Sandburg?" a strange woman's voice interrupted the flickering thoughts and anguished emotions.

Startled, Blair hastily wiped his face and eyes, embarrassed to have been caught so defenceless... and then he felt a shaft of anger, tired of feeling defenceless, as if he had no boundaries or borders... as if anyone could intrude upon him at any time, taking whatever they wanted from him. Stiff, his voice tight, he looked up to see a woman of about forty gazing at him with an inscrutable expression. "Yes?" he replied.

"I'm Martha Sinclair. Dr. Rubens, in the Emergency Unit, asked me to see you. I'm a psychologist," she replied.

"Oh," Sandburg replied, wondering what to say. Somehow, 'Hey, great, I've been dying to tell someone what it's like to be gang-raped by fifty guys while my best friend watched,' seemed a little over the top.

He didn't want to talk about it.

Couldn't talk about it, not with any honesty. Couldn't reveal that his best friend had sacrificed everything of his own sexual identity to save his life... and if he couldn't be honest, what good was therapy going to be?

Dr. Sinclair waited but when he said nothing more, she continued, "Dr. Rubens told me of the ordeal you survived. It sometimes helps to recover fully if you..."

"Express the anger, resolve the feelings of victimization and the sense of being a despicable, filthy piece of refuse?" Blair interposed, his voice flat as he turned his gaze away from hers. "Thank you, Dr. Sinclair, but I'll be fine. I just need a little time to get some perspective. I know it wasn't my fault. I know that their behaviours do not mean I have no worth."

"Good, I'm glad to hear you 'know' those things," she replied with brisk compassion. "But, I'm more interested in how you _feel_ about what happened, and about yourself, now that it's over."

"Feel?" he repeated with a slight frown. "Pretty much what you'd expect, I guess. But, it's still so... fresh. Like a sore that hasn't healed yet. I'll be all right."

Recognizing a ten-foot thick wall when she saw one, Sinclair decided there was no point in pushing. Not yet anyway. "All right, Dr. Sandburg... I hope you're right. But, you suffered abuse no human being should ever have to experience. Abuse like that can create deep and abiding wounds beyond any physical hurt or harm. Many people in this kind of situation find the memories and feelings don't just fade in time, don't fade at all, until they find a way to deal with them and recover the self-esteem that was brutalized as much as was their bodies. If you find that you are unable to 'get past it' on your own, I hope you will seek assistance. You do not deserve to suffer for the rest of your life for what they did to you."

"Thank you, Dr. Sinclair," he replied, flicking a quick look at her then gazing at the wall again. "I'll remember your advice."

 

* * *

 

Simon had offered to come up with him, but Ellison said he'd be fine. He was tired and felt filthy. He was going to take a shower and then get some sleep. All very reasonable and rational... and every word delivered with the emotion of an android. But, not knowing what else to do or how to help, Simon let him go with the reminder that in the next day or two he'd need a formal statement for the files. Jim had nodded bleakly, understanding the drill and had gotten out of the car.

"What time do you want me to pick you up in the morning?" Simon asked.

For a moment, Ellison looked confused and then he remembered he didn't have his truck in Cascade. Vaguely, he wondered if it was still at the cabin and flinched inwardly at ever having to return there. Paradise had become a place of unending torment... a hell on earth. But then he gathered his thoughts and shook his head. "That's all right, Simon. Blair's car is here. I can pick him up in the morning. Frankly... I'm not sure he's ready to see anyone else yet. Can you understand?"

Sadly, Simon nodded. "Yeah, Jim," he sighed. "I understand. Let me know if you need anything or if there's anything I can do to help."

"Thanks," Jim replied, as he turned away. Watching him walk toward the apartment building and disappear inside, Simon was bothered by the dispirited slump to Ellison's shoulders and the... what? Depression? Guilt? ... that he could sense in his friend. Oh, some of that was to be expected, certainly. They'd both been through hell. But... there was no anger. Jim's natural instincts when Blair was threatened or hurt were to be angry and that was always and only tempered by his need to protect and care for his friend. This lifelessness, and their willingness to be separated from one another, wasn't natural.

Simon's thoughts returned to Sandburg then as he thought more about it all, trying to divine by the insights he had of the two men and their extraordinary partnership and friendship, what was going on between them now. Sandburg's instincts were as strong toward protecting Ellison as Ellison's were toward protecting Sandburg. Bad as the kid had to be hurting, and Simon acknowledged honestly to himself that he couldn't even to begin to imagine what Sandburg must be feeling, it didn't feel right that Blair had sent Jim home alone... both their instincts would have been, should normally have been, to keep the other close, to make sure the other was all right. Again he wondered just exactly what had happened out there in the forest... wondered if he'd ever know.

Not that he needed to know.

It wasn't any of his business, except insofar as a formal, and blessedly brief in this case since the perps were dead, statement was necessary to close the books on the case.

He didn't need to know, wasn't sure he even wanted to know.

But... he was very worried about his friends.

 

* * *

 

Upstairs in the loft, Jim had sagged down onto the sofa and was staring blindly out the windows at the sky, tormented by the last moments he'd spent with his best friend.

Blair wouldn't look at him. Didn't want to feel his touch. Didn't want him around.

Bleakly, he closed his eyes, wishing for the mercy of sleep, trying to remember how long it had been since he had slept. But the memories crowded in, haunting him, tearing him apart.

Frightened by what had happened to them... by what was happening now, he got up to restlessly pace the apartment. He'd known that simply getting out of the camp wasn't the end of it. He knew they had a lot to deal with, work out... figure out how to live with.

But he felt so helpless. He didn't know what to do, what to say.

Didn't know if Sandburg would ever be able to stand being around him after what had happened... what he'd had to do. What he hadn't been able to stop.

Desperate, reaching for the structure of normalcy, Jim forced himself to have the shower, to eat some cereal though it was like chaff in his mouth... forced himself to go up to his room and lie down. He couldn't help Sandburg if he fell apart.

He needed to be strong.

So, finally, he even forced himself to fall asleep.

But sleep stole his control... all the super-human effort he'd been investing to hold the soul-searing memories at bay was impossible to maintain once he'd succumbed to exhaustion. The memories rose up to haunt and torment him... blistering snatches of hellish moments... Sandburg arching back in an agony he couldn't hide or completely deny, the sound of the groan torn from his throat... the pain in his eyes that he tried to pretend wasn't there... the sight of men brutalizing him... the terrible sounds, a faltering heart beat, his Guide bruised and bleeding, weeping in his arms... Blair flinching away from his touch... unable to look at him... asking him to leave. It all jumbled together, louder and brighter, sickening in its clarity, terrifying in its madness... until he screamed with it, screamed out his wretched pain and anguish of having been helpless, useless... of having allowed his best friend and Guide to have suffered so horribly.

Ellison woke with the scream on his lips, shuddering, panting for breath, bathed in sweat. For a moment, he couldn't remember what had happened and he reached for Sandburg's heartbeat... but it wasn't there and he was swamped by new terror, lurching up out of the bed... until the memories again cascaded over him and he groaned with all the grief and guilt in his tortured soul. Sinking back onto the edge of the bed, he leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, his head in his hands, and he sobbed for his Guide... and for his own deep and abiding agony of having failed to safeguard his best friend... for once again, having betrayed his oath to protect.

Gradually, he forced the control back. This wasn't about him, wasn't about his pain. Sandburg needed him, maybe more than he'd ever needed him before. He would not fail him again, not now that he'd finally gotten him to safety. Ellison was determined to bury his own anguish and pain, his own need for comfort.

He wasn't important... his Guide was.

 

* * *

 

By the time Jim arrived at the hospital the next morning, Blair had already had a shower and was ready to leave.

"Morning, Chief," Jim said as he entered the room, determined to keep their relationship as even and normal as he could, "I brought you some clothes. Ready to go home?"

"Yeah, thanks," Blair replied, his gaze lifting toward Jim, but faltering before his eyes reached his friend's gaze. He reached out and Ellison handed over the bag. The detective moved to help Blair shift out of the bed, but Sandburg held up a hand, holding him off wordlessly, almost unconsciously, as he mumbled that he was fine. Turning his back to Jim, Blair got himself dressed.

Ellison looked away to give what privacy he could while thoughts tumbled in his mind. The kid was still awkward with him. The silence was deafening and completely unnatural. Sandburg didn't know how to be quiet. Swallowing, he decided to let it go until they were out of here and on their own.

But they had to talk.

It couldn't go on like this or they might never get past it.

And that was something Ellison couldn't bear to contemplate.

 

* * *

 

Blair stared out of the window of the car all the way home. He sat hunched, pulled into himself but when Jim asked if he was in pain, he just shrugged and said it wasn't bad. Upstairs in the loft, Jim asked if he wanted anything to eat, or maybe a mug of tea. Standing awkwardly in the centre of the living room, staring at the floor, Blair simply shook his head, mumbled, "No, thanks," and turned to head to his room.

"Blair... please... talk to me," Jim pleaded softly, wishing he had some idea of what to do or say to help his friend. He couldn't bear to see Sandburg like this... so lifeless and remote.

Sandburg paused for a moment at the door of his room, one hand gripping the frame as if he needed the support of something to hold onto. Taking a trembling breath, he again shook his head. Without turning, he murmured, "I can't Jim... not yet. I... I just can't." Then he continued into the room and shut the door, leaving a lost and scared Sentinel alone on the other side.

Blair didn't emerge for the rest of the day except to slip into the washroom... to have shower after shower after shower, as if he couldn't get clean. After the third such undertaking, Jim tried again.

"Chief... this isn't something you can wash off," he observed quietly, compassion in his voice. "You're not dirty," he added, very conscious of the deeper meaning of his words.

Sandburg had stood frozen for a moment, like a wild animal trapped with nowhere to go. His eyes skittered around the loft, everywhere but at Jim's face. Trembling, pale, he'd nodded finally, striving for control. "I know... crazy, huh?" he'd murmured. "I know all that, in my head... that I'm just engaging in predictable cleansing rituals. But... I can't seem to... to..."

"I know, Blair," Jim had replied softly, when his friend's voice had faded away, helpless to express all that he felt. "But you aren't alone here, Chief. We need to talk about what happened... we might need professional help, hell, I don't know. But this silence isn't doing you any good."

Sandburg swallowed and seemed about to speak, but then he hesitated again. For a moment, Jim thought Blair might actually look at him... seemed to be trying to lift his head and gaze, but that effort faltered, too. Finally, Blair whispered, "I can't Jim... I don't know how to express... I'm sorry."

"Jesus, kid," Ellison cut in, moving across the room, stumbling to a halt so as not to spook Blair who'd jumped unconsciously as soon as Jim started toward him. "You have _nothing_ to be sorry about! For God's sake, you were tied down," he continued, the breath tight in his chest. "You were the victim, Chief."

"So were you," Blair murmured, trembling slightly, and though he still wouldn't lift his eyes, Jim could hear his heart racing, his breathing shallow and too fast as if he was panicked about something.

Jim looked down and away at Blair's observation. He'd been so busy worrying about his roommate and best friend that he'd consciously willed away any thoughts about how it had all impacted on himself. Swallowing, he blew out a long breath as he admitted quietly, "Yeah, I guess I was... I've been trying to get passed it, Chief... I guess I've been trying not to think about it."

When he looked back up, Blair was staring at him, his face completely pale and his eyes wide, as if he was terribly afraid. But, as soon as Jim's eyes met his, Blair looked away and practically bolted back into his room, closing the door firmly.

"Blair!" Jim called out, exasperated, wondering what he'd said, or not said. Shaking his head, one arm lifted briefly in hopeless, silent, supplication, then his shoulders slumped and he turned away to stare out at the sky. Biting his lip, he raised a hand to wipe the moisture from his eyes. 'I don't know what to do,' he whispered, his voice broken. 'I just don't know what to do...'

In his room, Blair had his back pressed against the door, his arms crossed tightly. Jim's typical defence mechanisms always ran this course. He tried not to think about what was bothering him deeply, particularly if the problem was his friend and Guide. Wasn't that just about exactly the same thing he'd said after the fiasco with Alex before he'd spoken the words to end their partnership and their friendship? Because, when not thinking about it didn't work, and the pain was too much, his next defensive move was to retreat and isolate himself.

Blair knew they'd worked past a lot of that a few months ago, and that it was his job to help Jim deal with difficult stuff, stuff he'd rather avoid. But... how could he help Jim with this? How could he play 'Guide' when... when it was likely his very presence that his Sentinel could no longer abide?

Sinking down to the floor, he lowered his head to rest on the arms crossed over his knees. Jim had done what he'd had to do to save his life and Blair had no doubt that his friend would do it again, if he had to, because Jim did what had to be done. But if being around him now was only a constant and barely bearable reality for Jim... if his very presence was a kind of never-ending torment, how could he continue to inflict his presence on his best friend?

Blair forced himself to breathe deeply and evenly, fought the tears. He knew Jim could hear him, was probably monitoring him and he didn't want to only be yet another source of more anxiety and grief for his friend. He'd been burden enough.

But, it hurt, it hurt so bad.

And he needed Jim so much. Needed to know Jim didn't despise him... as he despised himself.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Blair woke feeling less haggard and fragile. As the physical hurts healed, he felt the pain of the incident was less immediate, less raw somehow, and was able to be a tad more objective about his feelings. He knew the loathing he felt for himself wasn't healthy, nor was it intellectually justifiable. The problem was, his intellect didn't seem to be spending a whole lot of time with his emotions lately... and his emotions weren't getting any better. He felt... degraded. Filthy. Unworthy of the sacrifice Jim had made for him.

Unworthy of Jim's friendship.

Unworthy of just about everything it seemed.

And that's when his intellect would kick back in and give him a figurative smack on the side of the head to get his attention. He was suffering from the emotional fallout from abuse. Mostly. He knew that and knew he could handle it. At least, he was pretty sure he could handle it.

But he was also suffering a tremendous load of guilt for having been used to also degrade Jim. Whenever he thought about what his best friend had done for him, suffered for him, he felt nauseated and helpless. How could he ever make something like this right? How could he expect that Jim would ever be able to look at him again and not remember the disgustingly intimate things he'd been forced into doing? It wasn't that Blair in any way thought Jim would blame him for any of it... it was just that regardless of where the blame might lie, the fact was he'd ejaculated into Jim's mouth and Jim had been forced to sodomize him, not to mention the indignity of having to touch him like a lover to get him aroused in the first place. And all of it in front of something like fifty cretins who thought cruelty was a spectator sport. Those were actions, memories... nightmares probably... that a guy like Jim couldn't just shrug off.

And, as if that wasn't enough... Jim had had to endure a night of listening to his best friend be used wantonly and brutally by those same men. Helpless to intervene or turn away. Bad enough for it to have been done to his best friend. Shattering for it to have happened to his Guide. The Sentinel in Jim might never be able to forgive himself for that horrific failure to be able to protect... and every time he looked at Blair, he'd be forced to remember it all over again.

Blair rubbed his forehead as he lay amongst his crumpled sheets staring at the ceiling. Jim had been nothing but wonderful throughout all of it. Kind, supportive, sensitive, patient, respectful both during and after. Hell, maybe he should be the Shaman.

But the hardest part was trying to imagine talking about it, as Jim so uncharacteristically seemed to want to do. How could Blair ever explain how the memory of his hands, his lips and tongue and mouth and body had been all that had made what had happened afterward endurable? That it was the memory of Jim's arms around him that had given him the strength and will to hold on... when that memory was of the last time Jim felt he'd failed, hadn't been there in time, hadn't protected his friend or Guide properly, arriving only as Mallory had shot him at the warehouse?

It would be like telling Jim that Blair had experienced his intimacies not once but fifty times... and that's something the Sentinel would also then remember every time he looked at his Guide. It would just heap one perceived failure on another for Jim, when the truth was, there wasn't anything he could have done, either time. It was... Blair struggled to find a word repulsive enough to capture the feelings he had, that he imagined the anguish and horror that would haunt Jim, and couldn't come up with one. Which, for a highly articulate person like him was saying something, or so he thought, anyway.

Bottom line... it would drive them crazy. It would always be a wedge between them that would keep the wounds open, not allowing either of them to heal. The constant reminder of Blair's physical presence in his life, at home, at work, would wear away at the Sentinel, eroding the easy rapport between them, corroding their friendship. And, eventually, the Sentinel would come to hate himself for having failed his Guide... and hate his Guide for not being able to make it right.

'Damn them,' Blair cursed, tears forming in his eyes. Those bastards had destroyed what Sandburg had come to believe was secure and unbreakable... the friendship, partnership, trust and love between the Sentinel and the Guide, between Blair and his best friend. Sandburg could endure just about anything. The humiliation, the abuse, the brutality and the beatings. But he couldn't stand being a source of constant pain to his Sentinel. Jim didn't deserve that... God, he'd given so much, done so much, tried so hard. He didn't deserve to have to relive it every day of his life.

Sick at heart... sick to his soul, Sandburg believed he was only delaying the inevitable. For the first time in their sometimes rocky relationship, this time he was the one who believed he had to go away.

And never come back.

 

* * *

 

By the time Blair worked up his courage enough to leave his room that morning, he found that Jim had left the loft. There was a note on the table saying that he'd had to go to the station to make the statement Simon required for the file, but that he'd be back as soon as he could.

Blair found the teapot out, the kettle filled with water and a selection of his favourite herbal brews ready at hand. Next to that, he found the package of his favourite granola, along with a bowl and spoon. The ingredients of his algae shake were already in the blender and only needed to be whipped up and poured into the glass that stood beside it. Tears filled his eyes and he sank to the floor, leaning sideways against the counter as he hugged himself and tried desperately to hold in the sobs. "Oh, God, Jim," he whispered brokenly. "I don't deserve you, man... I don't deserve this kindness... you've given me so much... everything... how will I ever make it without you?"

The knock on the door startled him and he debated not answering it, but then he sniffed and wiped his face, pushing his hands through his hair as he stood and crossed the floor. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door... surprised to see Joel, Rafe and a slightly unsteady looking H. standing in the hall, his left arm in a sling.

"What are you guys doing here?" Blair asked, dumbfounded. "H. come in, sit down before you fall down, man. Shouldn't you still be in the hospital?"

He stood back to let them enter, pushing his hair back behind his ears and straightening up to make them welcome. Rafe helped H. to the sofa where they both sat down while Joel stood next to the chair.

Handing out a set of keys, Joel explained, "I just brought Jim's truck back and parked it out back. It's a little beat up, I'm afraid... Simon was in a pretty big hurry when he drove it into the village."

Taking the keys, Blair nodded, trying to keep his tone and his actions, natural, as he replied, "Yeah... I guess he was. We are, like, so lucky he'd followed us and brought in the troops."

Joel didn't fail to note that Blair wasn't making eye contact with him or the others. Nodding a little to himself, he said steadily, "Blair... we all wish what happened hadn't happened. But you're our friend, we're here for you. Remember that."

His heart sinking, feeling that he really wasn't ready for this, Blair ducked his head, then forced himself to look up into Joel's eyes... steeling himself for the pity he knew he'd see there.

But, astonished, he didn't see pity. He saw a deep and abiding anger warring with respect. And he saw love.

Joel could see that something had surprised Sandburg... it was in his eyes. Surprise... and then gratitude.

"Thanks, Joel, that means a lot right now. It was... pretty terrible, man," Blair said quietly. Then swallowed and steadied his breathing as he turned to the others. "And just exactly why aren't you in a hospital, H.?" he demanded, his sharp request softened by a small smile.

"I've been in a hospital, Hairboy, and now I'm headed home," H. replied. "But, first, I wanted to stop by and thank you, man. You saved my life, Blair, twice... pulling me out of the river and leading that psycho away. You paid a hell of a price for that, my friend... I'm sorry. I owe you... and I'm grateful more than I can say."

Sandburg shook his head, not willing to accept such praise or gratitude. "Well, hey, I didn't want to be the one to tell Winslow I'd let you drown... he's a big guy, man," he joked. "And, well, that lunatic was going to come over and kill me, too, if I didn't run. You don't owe me anything, H. You'd have done the same for me."

"You're a good man, Blair... and a brave one," H. replied quietly. "We're lucky to have you on our team, we all know that. God, I wish you hadn't had to suffer what you did... but, like Joel said, we're all here for you, man. Anytime... anything you want."

Looking from H. to Rafe and then back to Joel, Blair was astonished that none of them showed any pity in their eyes. Respect, appreciation, anger that he'd been hurt, support, friendship... but no pity. Too moved for words in that moment, he could only nod until he could finally murmur, "Thanks... really, I mean it, thanks." Remembering himself, trying to distance the emotion, he offered, "Do any of you want something to drink? Jim had to go in to make the statement, but he'll be back soon. It was... it was really terrible for him, too... he'll be glad to know you guys came by to, well, offer support."

"Thanks, Blair, but I think I should get H. home," Rafe replied, standing and giving a hand to his partner. "After Joel and I drop the invalid here off at home, we're heading down to the station. If we miss him there, tell Jim... let him know... well, we're all part of one team. We stand together and if he needs anything at all, all he has to do is ask."

"I'll call later if we miss Jim at the station," Joel added. He paused a moment, wondering if Blair would be able to either welcome or tolerate any physical expression of friendship at that point, and decided not to push it... much as he badly wanted to give the younger, wounded, man a hug of reassurance. Compromising, he gripped Blair's arm, pleased that the kid didn't pull away, as he said, "You take your time... and do whatever you need to do to put this behind you, Blair. We all mean it... we're here for you and Jim... you are not alone."

Blair bobbed his head and managed a tentative smile as he replied, "I know... thanks. I really appreciate all of you coming." As he accompanied them to the door, he added, "You... you don't know what your support means. I mean it... you're great people, you know that, right?"

"Takes one to know one, man," H. replied, pausing to loop his good arm around Blair's shoulders to give him a quick hug. "You hang in there. Don't let anything those bastards did to you get you down. It was bad, I know... but you survived. And they didn't. In my opinion, they reaped what they sowed and deserved to die."

After he'd closed the door behind them, Blair stood lost in thought for long minutes. They'd helped, more than they could ever know. For the first time since it had all happened, he felt like he could go out in the world and not be some kind of debased object to be pitied.

It was a relief, of a sort, and he was grateful for it.

But none of that changed anything with respect to Jim. Didn't soothe the darkness in his soul or the gnawing ache of grief... or the bleak despair at knowing he had to leave.

Turning to his room, he pulled out his duffel and started to pack.

 

* * *

 

Joel and Rafe arrived at the station just as Ellison was heading out. He'd been vastly relieved to hear that Blair had seemed all right when the guys had visited briefly. Worn out, sure, a little wan, but all things considered, pretty good. Jim had also been touched by the concern and consideration Joel had shown him personally, saying something about how he'd know how he'd feel if he'd had to witness Sandburg being hurt like that... and if Jim ever needed to talk about it, Joel would always be there for him.

As he drove home, Jim reflected that he had appreciated the gesture more than Joel could ever really appreciate. There was no way he felt he could talk to Blair about it... it would only make the kid feel worse and he'd suffered enough for a thousand lifetimes without having to take on yet another burden from his friend and Sentinel. Jim wasn't sure he'd take Joel up on the offer, but it was good to know the support was there if he needed it.

Simon had made the same offer, and it had been equally appreciated, but somehow Jim felt it might be easier to talk about some of it, if never all of it, with Joel. Simon had also been clear that he wanted them both to see one of the department's 'psych's', but Jim had never been comfortable with them... never wanted them to see any weakness. But, Joel was different. Joel would understand... well, as much as Jim thought he could ever share. Some of it he couldn't ever share with anyone. It wouldn't be right... it would be a violation of Blair's privacy and dignity in a way the abuse of the terrorists had never been. If the guys, anyone, ever knew what had happened between him and Blair that night, they'd never be able to look at them the same way again.

And if word ever got out, it would be hell on earth. Too many people already assumed a gay relationship existed between them. This would only make them all believe that where there was smoke there was fire.

Not that Jim cared for himself. Strangely, he thought, he didn't. He'd done what had had to be done to save Blair's life. In an odd way, he had no regrets about it and no embarrassment for himself. He'd do it again, though he sincerely hoped such a horrific situation never, ever, occurred again. It wasn't that he'd in any way enjoyed it... God, no. It had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life... but Blair was his best friend, his partner, his Guide and, yeah, even his Shaman. Jim loved him, pure and simple. A bizarre way to have to show it, maybe. Truly a devastating experience for both of them. The only regret he had was that Blair had been made to suffer, to endure his attentions being forced upon him... but they'd survived it and if they could still accept one another, they might even be stronger for it. As a minimum, Ellison would find a way to live with it without Sandburg ever knowing how the memories tore at his soul. God, if that had been the end of it, if the other terrible abuse hadn't happened... but it had... and Jim couldn't begin to imagine what that had done to Sandburg.

He wished with every fibre in his being that none of it had ever happened. He hated Emery and his gang from hell. Hated them with a passion that surpassed any hate he'd ever known or imagined. Those freaks had been twisted, sick, psychopathic, racist, monsters, every last one of them.

He was glad they were dead.

Part of him still wished he could have killed them all personally.

But, it had happened and they had to find a way to live with it. It wasn't what had happened between him and Blair that haunted Jim Ellison, not on his own behalf anyway. He was terrified, however, that he'd had to go so far beyond the bounds, regardless of the reason, that Blair wouldn't ever be able to stand being near him again. Worse in many ways, he hadn't been able to save Sandburg from what had come after. Hell, he'd been a witness to it... and every time Blair looked at him, it had to bring it all back again.

He was deeply afraid that, at some level, Blair hated him.

God knew, he hated himself for not having been able to save the kid from suffering what Ellison didn't even have the words to describe or imagine. He just knew that whenever he thought about it, it was all he could do not to throw up or smash everything in reach. So, he tried hard not to think about it. Sandburg sure didn't need a raging Sentinel on his hands... nor did he need to have to cope with one who was sick to his soul with grief and guilt.

When he let himself into the loft, he was relieved to see that the door to Blair's room wasn't closed, but standing half open and he could see his roommate moving around inside. A glance at the counter told him that Sandburg hadn't eaten anything yet, though. Well, one step at a time. Leaving the door open was progress in the right direction.

Hanging up his coat, he called out, "Hey, Chief, I'm home." Ambling toward Blair's room, he observed, "I see you haven't eaten anything yet. Do you want me to make you an omelet or..."

But his words died in his throat when he reached the doorway and realized what Sandburg was doing.

He was packing.

Sandburg was leaving.

Ellison felt as if his world had just crashed down and crushed him. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, let alone speak. Sagging against the doorframe, he shook his head, wanting to deny the evidence of his eyes. Blair hadn't turned to face him, but was busy stuffing something into the duffel and then was zipping it up.

Without turning, Blair straightened and said softly into the silence, "I'm sorry, Jim... I don't think I can stay here anymore."

Ellison looked away, blinking hard, trying to control the treacherous trembling of his lips. He could live with anything but this... not this. Though he tried to keep his tone steady, his voice cracked a bit as he asked, "What... what's going on here, Chief?"

"I have to go, Jim," Blair replied still without turning around, his voice low. Ever since the guys had left, Sandburg had been going over what he'd say... but in the hour that had passed, he couldn't come up with anything but monosyllabic, simple sentences. Anything more, and he knew he'd lose it.

"Go? Go where?" Ellison asked, trying to make sense of this. Surely... surely Blair didn't mean he was just going to walk away like this. Maybe he just needed a little time, a little space... somewhere with no reminders to regroup and heal.

Blair shrugged as he replied, his voice flat and empty, "I don't know."

"Chief... this makes no sense... when will you be back?" Jim demanded, beginning to feel desperation grow in his chest. That damned remoteness was back, the hollow lifelessness that terrified him.

But, Blair just shrugged. Frowning, Jim could hear his best friend's heart hammering, too fast... and his breathing was shallow, as if he was on the edge of panic. "You _are_ planning to come back, right?" Ellison asked... afraid of the answer.

"I..." Blair couldn't get the words out. It hurt too much, so he just shook his head... no, he wasn't coming back.

Ellison felt as if something broke inside, and he could hardly breathe. Tears blurred his eyes and he felt as if everything had gone suddenly dark... wondered if this was what dying felt like. His voice broken, he choked out, "Oh, Chief, I know it was terrible... and I couldn't... but I thought... I _hoped_ you wouldn't _hate_ me... this much..."

Blair stiffened at the words and turned sharply, confusion on his face, shocked beyond the bounds of his own misery at the heartbreak in his best friend's voice. For the first time since they'd come out of that camp, he looked Jim straight in the eyes. "Hate you? Why in the name of all that's holy, would I hate you?"

Ellison swiped at his eyes, trying to make sense of what was going on. "You're leaving... if you don't despise me for... why are you leaving?"

"You think I _despise_ you for what you did? For not being able to stop them?" Blair demanded, disbelief written on his face. "Jesus, Jim... what kind of ungrateful bastard do you think I am, anyway? Despise you? You saved my _life_ , man... my _sanity_... you gave yourself in a way that..."

Relief washed over Ellison at Sandburg's words, releasing the fear he'd felt for days now... Sandburg didn't hate him. But, he couldn't make sense of it. If Blair didn't hate him, despise him... then why was he going? He looked from his friend to the bag on the bed and shook his head. No, he must be misunderstanding something here. Maybe Sandburg didn't actually hate him, but it seemed pretty clear he couldn't stand to stay anywhere near him. "Are you're going... because, because of what I did..."

Realizing he needed to slow down and make some things, at least, very clear, Blair took a breath and started again. In that moment, as he focused on the needs of his Sentinel, he forgot his pain, forgot his own sense of being lost. He couldn't let Jim go on believing something so very far from the truth. "Jim, I can't even begin to imagine the kind of strength that it took for you to do what you did to save my life. I don't know... I doubt very much... that I'd have been able to do the same for you. I'm just not that strong. You gave yourself as a gift of such unprecedented and unconditional love that I'm staggered by it, every single time I remember what you did for me... which is about every five seconds, or so. Hate you?" he repeated, his voice breaking. "Dear God, Jim... I could never, _ever_ hate you. I told you out there, _I love you. I meant it... I'll always mean it. Don't you ever doubt that._ "

Ellison looked deeply into Blair's eyes and knew that he meant every word, that he only spoke the truth as he knew it. His gaze shifted again to the packed bag, his face blank with confusion. "Then... then why are you leaving? I don't understand," he asked, his voice unsteady, wanting to believe that somewhere in all this a reprieve was possible.

"I don't think I can explain," Blair responded, his gaze again falling away as he turned away.

"Oh, no. No," Jim protested, his hands up, "you're not just going to walk out and not tell me why... not after all we've gone through..."

"Jim, please," Blair pleaded, reaching for his bag.

"No," Ellison shook his head, unwilling to give up without a fight. This was too important... hell, it was their lives. "Leave the bag where it is... we need to talk. Obviously, we've put it off too long already."

When Sandburg still hesitated, Jim moved forward and took his arm, ignoring the flinch. Blair had said he didn't hate him... was grateful, loved him. Whatever that flinch was about, it wasn't what he'd feared. He'd begun to suspect his own deep fears had blinded him to what had been going on all along. Blair was suffering as any victim suffered from such horrific abuse. He wasn't thinking, just reacting. Reacting on the basis of feeling violated and debased... of having his worth stripped from him. Jim was a cop. He'd seen this reaction before, too many times. At last, finally, with a sense of incredible relief, he thought he might have a clue as to what to say and do. "Come on, Sandburg... you're not going anywhere until we have a conversation."

Though Blair wanted to resist, his strength was no match for a Sentinel on a mission. He found himself hauled out of his room and almost pushed down onto the sofa. If anyone else had treated him like that, he'd have blown up... but he owed Jim, more than he could ever begin to repay.

And Jim was right.

There was too much between them to just walk away without _some_ kind of explanation.

Jim took the chair across from him, leaning forward, his arms on his thighs, his hands clasped loosely. For a moment, he sat quietly and studied his silent, withdrawn, friend. If Blair hadn't looked strong enough for the conversation they needed to have, the Sentinel was not above standing watch to keep him in the loft until he could handle it. Sandburg's face was too pale and still lightly mottled with bruises, but the swelling was gone. He sat a little stiffly, as if still suffering some physical discomfort from the horrific trauma he'd experienced, but on balance, physically at least, he seemed to be recovering. Ellison decided a full and frank discussion wouldn't over-tax his friend's limited reserves. "All right," he began, "I don't care if this takes all night. Tell me what is wrong. Tell me why you think you have to leave."

Blair sighed as he studied the ceiling. Jim wasn't going to let him off with some fancy excuses or obfuscations. He was going to have to tell him the truth, or as much as he dared share, so he might as well get it over with. "It's not that complicated, Jim... you've been... amazing. Supportive, patient... but... but I don't know... how you can stand to even look at me," he finally blurted out.

"Why? Because of what those animals did to you?" Jim asked, his voice steady, holding his own emotions with a tight rein.

His eyes skittering around the room, as if seeking some escape, Blair swallowed, then nodded a little as he replied, "Yes... I guess."

"What they did to you wasn't your fault. It has nothing to do with who or what you are, Chief," Ellison replied firmly to make that point crystal clear, but he knew this wasn't all of it. "'You guess'? What's the rest of it?"

The lump in his throat was too big to get words past. Helplessly, Sandburg just shook his bowed head, his hair falling like a curtain to hide his face.

When the silence lengthened between them, Jim shook his head. "Chief, what is it that you think I see when I look at you? What is it that you think I can't stand?" he asked, trying to come at it a different way.

Blair lifted his hands, then let them fall. He looked so young and vulnerable that Jim's heart ached for him. Swallowing hard, his voice a bare whisper, his words faltering, he said, "I... I came... in your mouth, man. You... you had to... had to..."

"Whoa, slow down, Blair," Jim intervened, not wanting to make his best friend suffer any more... in no way wanting Blair to feel any shame for what had occurred. "Did you lie to me the other night when you said it would be all right? When you let me believe we could get through that without it tearing us apart?"

"NO!" Blair blurted out, lifting his head to look at Ellison in his vehemence. "No... that's not the point. What I feel isn't the point. You were forced to... to..."

But he couldn't finish, his voice cracking as he was swamped by the magnitude of what Jim had had to do, had to endure... for him, because of him.

"I was forced, yes, I'll grant that," Jim replied, his voice matter-of-fact, carefully objective. "The truth is, we were both raped, both forced to endure what we would never have chosen... victims of their hate and twisted souls. It was probably the most difficult and painful thing I've ever had to do..."

When Blair flinched, and his heart rate spiked, Ellison held up a hand, pleading, "Listen to me... _just listen_. It was that hard because... because it hurt you, not... not because of what I had to do. For all of it, all I kept thinking, holding on to, was that I wanted to make it as easy as I could for you. It was your life that I had in my hands. _Your life, Chief._ The most precious and irreplaceable treasure in my life."

Jim had to pause, to gather his own emotions back under tenuous control. He couldn't lose it, couldn't give way to the terror and horror he had felt through all of that nightmarish night, and still felt whenever he let the memories intrude... or when he woke in a cold sweat from nightmares he couldn't seem to repress. As he gazed at Sandburg, he thought of all this man had given for him. His life, physically and figuratively. His abiding trust and uncompromising and unconditional love. It hurt to see the pain and doubt in those wide eyes, hurt like hell to think that one more time, after all that had happened, Sandburg was still trying to act in the way he felt was the best, the less painful, for his friend, partner and Sentinel.

Whatever anguish Ellison bore in his own soul, he was committed to putting that aside, to do whatever it took to make this as right as he could. This was about Blair, about getting him through this trauma as whole as Jim could help him to be. Quietly, but fervently, he continued, "I hated what they made me do to you... hated them beyond my ability to express for what they did after. But when I look at you... that's not what I see, Chief. I see a man of incredible courage. I see my best friend... someone who means more to me than anyone else on this earth. When I think about what happened between us, I'm not repulsed or evolted... I'm just so... sorry. You were helpless, and they were going to kill you as if... as if you're nothing. Their hatred and crazy, evil bigotry blinded them to... to the light that you are. To your brilliance, and strength and decency. Those are the things I see, Blair... I'd have done anything, blown my own brains out, without hesitation or regret, if that would have saved your life. Touching you... well, like I said, I'm not in love with you... but I love you. If it took touching you, in that way, to save your life... well... I can live with that, Chief." Pausing, to lighten the moment and the memory if he could, he added with a wry tone, "Just... uh... don't expect it to happen again, okay?"

It was a weak attempt at humour and Ellison knew it. But, he smiled softly when he saw Sandburg start at his comment, at the casual, even almost playful tone, reducing the horror to something they might even find a dark humour in... putting it into perspective. Despite himself, Sandburg laughed weakly and, waving a hand, assured him, "Don't worry, man... no offence, but you are really not my type."

"Uh... I'll try to take that in the spirit it's intended, Sandburg," Ellison teased... and won a choked giggle that warmed his heart. For the first time since he'd seen Blair packing, he started to relax. It would be all right. They could get through this.

If Ellison had stopped at that moment, it might have been enough to let Sandburg think he'd never have to share any more of it... of how he'd held onto the memory of Jim's touch to block out the rest... but Jim, looked away as he continued, his voice falling, unconsciously sharing his own grief and guilt, "But it wasn't enough, was it, Chief? I didn't save you from them... from what they did to you. God, Blair, I'm so sorry you had to suffer that. I don't know how you survived, I honestly don't. You said a few minutes ago that you don't think you're as strong as I am. That's not true. Hell, you think I don't know you were trying to make it easier for me when you made that crack about England?" He sighed, sick at the memory. "It wasn't 'England' that got you through that, pal... it was your own strength and courage... nothing else."

Blair's throat tightened as he heard the pain the Sentinel hadn't intended to reveal. The grief and the sense of failure that he hadn't been able to help or support, that he'd been irrelevant when he'd been needed so badly. Taking a shuddering breath, Blair decided he had to risk the whole truth. "No... no, I didn't get through it alone, man. And it wasn't thoughts of England that kept me sane, either," he murmured.

Uncertain, not understanding, Ellison frowned a little, wondering what Sandburg meant. There sure as hell hadn't been anyone else there, helping Blair through it all... and, God knew, he hadn't been able to do a damned thing but turn his head away and close his eyes.

Seeing the confusion, Blair took a breath as he gathered his thoughts, trying to find the way to share what had helped him to survive... what had kept him sane. "Jim... I don't want you to misunderstand what I'm going to say," he began, hoping he was doing the right thing. "But... but if they'd really wanted to destroy me, they shouldn't have let you touch me first."

Ellison shook his head, his face blank with confusion. "I don't understand, Chief."

"I know," Blair replied. "Jim... at first, the whole time they were... doing what they did, I... I just kept thinking about the feel of your hands, your body... I kept thinking about you."

Jim pulled back, a look of horror on his face.

"See... that's what I don't want you to misunderstand, man. It wasn't that I equated what they were doing with what you did... just the opposite," Sandburg hurried on, his words rushing together in his intensity and his desire to be understood. "You touched me with respect... not contempt. You... you were as gentle as you could be... not rough and maliciously abusive. You covered me, filled me... literally... with love, not hate. It was as if you'd imprinted yourself on me, some essence of who you are, of what we mean to one another. It was like a shield, Jim... a boundary they couldn't quite violate, much as they did their damnedest. You were with me the whole time... standing between me and them... protecting me from being utterly destroyed. I needed you that night... needed your strength... and your love... to armour myself against their attack. And you gave it to me, without hesitation... completely, unconditionally, without regard to the cost to yourself. Oh... they hurt me, all right... they hurt my body. And they made me feel... degraded, I guess. The worst of it was knowing that you were part of it... being hurt by it, too. I was ashamed that you had to witness it."

Blair paused a moment, trembling with the memories, having to get himself under control. "When it... when it got too much... I... well, I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to make it. But... when I felt myself drifting, the thought of your touch, the memory of you holding me... I can't explain it, but it was like my mind jumped from where I was as I remembered the last time you'd held me so tight... held onto my life. At the warehouse, after I'd been shot and knew I was dying. It was like a miracle, Jim... you were there, holding me, and I felt so safe. I knew you'd come to save me, and I just couldn't let go... couldn't let them defeat us. It all got mixed up together, like a dream mangled by a nightmare, but through it all, I knew if it was humanly possible, you'd save me again... I just had to hold on. So... so I went to the jungle, to wait. I can't lie to you... you know they hurt me... worse than I've ever been hurt before. But... they couldn't trash my soul, man. I was armed with the defence of your love... nothing they could do, could get passed that. Do you understand? You saved me that night... not just my life...but all that I am that really matters. You saved my sanity... and my soul. I just had to wait in the jungle until I heard you calling me... and then I knew it was safe to come back."

Jim had leaned forward while Blair spoke, his elbows on his knees, his clasped hands supporting his chin and mouth... his eyes locked on Sandburg's face. Until Blair had equated what he'd done with providing his Guide with a shield, and then his breath caught in his throat and he had to look away, shaking a little, blinking against the moisture that burned in his eyes. He hadn't failed... not completely. He'd provided a vital service... and he was wretchedly grateful for that. But... Sandburg hadn't wanted to leave the jungle, hadn't really wanted to return with him. Blair still wasn't giving him the whole story. If he'd just been waiting, ready to come back... he wouldn't have been planning to leave now.

When Sandburg finished his explanation, Jim looked back at him. "Then... why have you flinched away from me whenever I've touched you since?" he asked.

Looking away, his head down, Blair murmured, "Because... because you knew what they'd done, and I'm ashamed that you witnessed that obscenity. Because of what they'd forced you to do, and I know how much it hurt you to do it. Because... I feel filthy and don't want to get any of it on you. And... because... I guess... I thought you were just being kind... that you couldn't possibly want to ever, really, have anything more to do with me. That... that seeing me would only, always, hurt you too much."

"And, that's why you'd decided to leave?" Jim asked, horrified. " _To protect me?_ To take away the constant reminder of what I did to you... what I could not prevent being done to you... because you were worried about how much _I_ had been hurt?"

"Yeah... that's why," Blair admitted quietly, his gaze shifting to the floor.

Leaning back, looking away for a moment as he strove he maintain his control, Ellison asked, "Chief, if the situation had been reversed, if our roles in that sick drama had been reversed, would you have been disgusted by me... would you have wanted to never see me again?"

"No," Blair replied, without hesitation or equivocation as his gaze again lifted to Jim's face. He loved Jim Ellison unconditionally. Nothing would ever change that.

Ellison turned cool eyes toward him, as if he was reading Sandburg's heart. "So... you think you're really the only person in your world, more to the point, the only one of the two of us, who can love unconditionally? That's it, isn't it? Not that you haven't had ample proof of that in the past, I guess. God knows, when it comes to the crunch, you've always been the one who has had to give. You go through life protecting everyone... Naomi, me, Eli, students who got into trouble, even Mallory, may the Devil rot his soul, regardless of the cost to yourself. It's noble, Chief... but didn't you once think that maybe, just maybe, you could have given me a chance to prove you were wrong this time?"

Stunned by the question, by its insight, an insight into his own heart and soul that he'd missed, Blair sank back against the cushions. Looking away, ashamed, he realized that, however unconsciously, that was exactly the assumption he'd made. It was the assumption he'd always made... the gift he'd always given to make allowances when others hurt him, whether consciously or unconsciously. The forgiveness his heart allowed because he loved enough to compromise who and what he was for the ones he loved, preferring to hurt himself rather than to ever hurt them. It had never, not once, occurred to him that anyone would ever love him that much in return. It was unlooked for, unexpected... and overwhelming. Swallowing, shaking his head, he looked back at Jim as he replied sadly, "Yes... I guess... God, I didn't realize... I'm sorry."

Sighing, Jim leaned forward then stood to walk across the room and sit down beside his friend. Laying a hand on Sandburg's shoulder, he said firmly, "For too many years, you've been right. You were the one who had to make all the sacrifices... and it kills me to know that's true. But, you've taught me what unconditional love means, Chief... showed me how to accept it _and_ how to give it. This was a hell of a way to find it out, Blair, but... but I hope you will believe me when I tell you, it works both ways now. I am here for you, always, no matter what. You can bank on that... my word is good. _Nothing_ will ever change or compromise how I feel about you... or how lucky I know I am to have you in my life. Are we clear on that?"

Whatever had been broken, was restored, that which had been wounded, was healed. Tears glistening in his eyes, Sandburg took the step his Sentinel needed him to take to know it truly would be all right. Nodding, leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around Ellison, hugging him tightly, accepting love as he'd always given it... unconditionally, as he murmured, "Yeah, man... we're very clear. Thank you, Jim."

The Sentinel's arms came around him, holding his Guide tightly, feeling the first peace he'd felt in days warm his heart and soul. "I missed you, my brother," he whispered, then leaned his head on Sandburg's curls. "Please believe me... I am _always_ here for you."

Relief cascaded over Sandburg, cleansing and irresistible. Holding onto his Sentinel as if his life depended upon never losing contact, his head buried in Jim's shoulder, finally and forever safe and secure, the Guide wept.

Closing his eyes, holding his friend close, grateful that they had come through the shadows safely, Jim told himself he'd been right not to let Blair see how badly he, himself, had been traumatized by all that had occurred. Right to let Sandburg believe he was fine... or Blair wouldn't have been able to release his own pain. Swallowing, the Sentinel vowed to himself that his Guide would never know, vowed to handle it on his own. He couldn't risk his friend misunderstanding... it wasn't anything about Blair that haunted him. It was his own fury at those animals... his own failure that tormented him still. Sandburg didn't need to deal with that, too... didn't need to worry that his presence was some kind of torment when the living, breathing, vital reality of Blair Sandburg in his life was the only thing that brought any measure of peace to Ellison's soul.

 

* * *

 

Sometime later, having polished off the omelette Ellison had prepared and insisted that he eat, Sandburg pushed his plate back and sipped at his mug of tea. "That was good, man, thanks. I guess I didn't realize how hungry I was," he said, setting the mug down and pushing his hair back behind his ears. Stronger for having eaten, he felt he could now confront the last demon that was tormenting him. Leaning forward, his elbows on the table, again not quite meeting Jim's eyes, he said quietly, "I guess you know that they're doing some blood tests... "

Jim had been pleased to see Sandburg finally eat something, and relieved at the colour that was coming back into his too pale and still bruised face. But he sighed as he nodded, not bothering to hide his own worry about the sword still suspended over them. His jaw a little tight with his own control, he replied, "Yes, the doctor explained everything to me. We won't have the results back for a few days yet."

Blair's eyes flicked up at the 'we', knowing that if the news was bad, Jim was telling him that they would face it together. "I'm sorry, Jim... " he began, afraid of the burden he might yet become, given the kind of care that would be needed before it was over.

But Jim cut him off, sharply and firmly, as he protested, "Don't you ever apologize to me for anything those psychos did to you!"

Looking down, his jaw tight, Blair nodded. Shrugging a little, he murmured, "They weren't really 'psychos' you know... just men filled with ignorance and hate. If they had been crazy, it might be easier to accept."

"Hate is a disease,' Jim sighed. "It's spread from parents to their children, from one generation to another. It's irrational, unjustifiable and as ugly as anything on the face of this earth. I've never been able to understand it... hating someone for their colour or heritage." He shook his head, his jaw tight with anger at the injustice and evil of it.

Sandburg crooked a small grin at him as he reached out to grip his friend's arm. "I know you don't understand it... I might have been a 'neo-hippy, witchdoctor, punk,' but you didn't hate me for it, for being different. You might have been angry, and maybe even scared, but you don't have a racist or discriminatory bone in your body."

Ellison was about to respond when he realized he was being led down a garden path by a guy well skilled in leading the conversation away from where it had been when it was something he didn't really want to talk about. Blowing out a breath, he returned to their earlier discussion. "I know you must be afraid, Chief," he said quietly. "Hell, I'm scared stiff... but until we get the results back, there's really no point in buying trouble. If the news is... bad, we'll do what we have to do to fight it. There're drugs now..."

Nodding, looking away, Sandburg sat back. "I know, you're right," he replied, trying to quell the anxiety within. "I just hate to think of what..."

"You think too much, sometimes, Chief," Jim replied, but his soft tone muted the criticism. "Try to let it go until we know whether or not there's anything to worry about."

"Okay," Blair sighed, knowing Jim was right. Shifting a little in his chair, he turned the conversation to more practical matters. "I guess Simon will need a statement from me, too. What did you tell him?" he asked, wanting to be sure their stories jived.

"Everything except what's between us," Jim replied. "I'm sorry... I know you'd rather no one know what those animals did... but..."

"I understand, it's okay," Sandburg cut in. He hadn't hung around with the cops for years, been one for months, without knowing that the facts had to go into the legal statements. Jim was compromising himself enough by holding back some of what had occurred. "I'll go in tomorrow morning... get it over with."

"Fine... I'll go with you," Jim offered, glad when Sandburg nodded as if it was no more than he'd expected. But when his best friend remained still, and his heartbeat hitched up to a higher rate, he waited, wondering what was coming next. "There's something else," Blair said, this time tentatively.

"What's that, Chief?" Ellison asked.

"I want to go back to the cabin... to the place where it happened," Sandburg said, looking away. When Ellison leaned forward, prepared to argue, he turned his wide, candid gaze back to Jim's eyes as he continued, "The cabin... everything up there... was so beautiful, Jim. I don't want the memory of that beauty blotted out. I... I need to make peace with what happened. Can you understand?"

Sighing, looking away, Jim nodded. Yeah, he could understand, even if that wretched place from hell was the last place he ever wanted to see again. Swallowing, he nodded again as he thought that it would be worth it, if it would help Blair find closure, and finally put the nightmare to rest.

 

* * *

 

Simon rose in surprise when he saw Sandburg walk into the bullpen with Ellison the next day. He hadn't expected the kid to be able to face the idea of making a statement this soon. Reliving those memories had to be just about the hardest thing any man could imagine having to do. Pausing only to ensure his own expression was under control, he went out to meet them.

"Ellison," he nodded, then turned his gaze to Blair. "Sandburg... how are you holding up?"

"I'm okay, Simon," Blair assured him, his gaze candid... and there was even the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Thanks for coming to the rescue, man."

Not for the first time, Banks was blown away by the younger man's strength and resilience. Swallowing, nodding, trying to keep his own fury for what had been done at bay, he waved the way into his office. "I guess you've come in to give me your statement," he said quietly. "You don't have to do this yet... or if you'd rather give it to someone else..." His voice died away, wanting to make this as easy for Blair as he could.

"I want to get it over with, Simon... putting it off, won't make it easier," Sandburg replied with a shrug. Looking up at his superior he added, "I know Jim has probably told you most of it... that makes it easier."

"Whatever works for you, son," Simon replied.

It was a gruelling hour for all of them. As much as Blair told himself he could handle it, the anger was still there... anger at being treated as dirt because of his heritage and appearance, fury at being victimized, brutalized. Rage that Jim had had to suffer it as well. There were moments when his throat was too tight, and he had to sip some water, then tea after Jim went to bring him a mug of soothing chamomile. Moments when he just blurted facts out, as if purging them from his system, the faster the better.

Until finally, Blair sat back with a heartfelt sigh, wrung out and exhausted. It was over.

Jim had sat silently beside him, doing what he could to lend support to help Sandburg through the difficult recounting of the horror. When his friend's voice had tightened with tension, he'd brought the tea to relax him, and from time to time had rested a supportive hand upon his shoulder or back, letting him know he was safe. That it would be all right. That it was over. Through it all, the Sentinel kept his own eyes averted, focusing on keeping control of his own rage and despair. His Guide had been through hell, had enough to deal with. Grimly, Ellison fought back his own rage and sense of absolute failure to have not been able to protect Sandburg from any of it.

There was a silence then while Simon gathered himself together. It wasn't any easier to hear a second time ... something like this just didn't get 'easier'. But finally he reached and snapped off the tape recorder, murmuring quietly, "You're a strong man, Sandburg. I don't know how many could have survived something like that. God help me, I'm glad I helped kill them all."

Blair had been staring at the table, his hands gripped together in front of him, but now he forced himself to relax his muscles as he looked up at Jim, then at Simon. "I wouldn't have... couldn't have... if Jim hadn't been there. I wasn't alone... and I knew he'd bring me home... somehow... he'd bring me home."

Both of the older men had to blink stinging eyes and clear their throats at that expression of innocent, unshakeable trust. Pushing back from the table, Simon said then, "You take all the time you need to get past it, Sandburg. If you want counselling to help, we can set that up. I've already made that offer to Jim, and, frankly, I strongly recommend it. You know enough about psychology to understand 'critical incident stress syndrome', so I hope you'll accept help if you need it."

Again a smile ghosted across Sandburg's lips. "I appreciate that, Simon. But," his eyes strayed to Ellison's, "you, and the other guys, and Jim... well, you've given me what I needed. Support and understanding... even respect when, after something like this, a person feels that's the last thing they can expect. If I need professional help, I'll get it, but I think I'll be fine."

Simon turned to Ellison as he asked, "And you, Jim?" Though he expected the answer he got.

Gazing at Sandburg, the detective replied, his voice tight with emotion, "I've got everything I need, too, Captain. We're both going to be fine."

 

* * *

 

After they left the office, Ellison and Sandburg went by H.'s place to see how he was recovering. They found him feeling much stronger, the blood transfusions, the rest, and time, working their magic. Blair took the lead in asking if they could rent the cabin again in the near future. Although he was surprised, having felt guilty that it was their presence at his family's retreat that had led to all the terrible outcomes, H. readily agreed... except to make it clear that he'd accept no 'rent'.

After they'd left, H. called Rafe, who talked to Joel, who in turn entered Simon's office and closed the door.

Ellison and Sandburg had barely gotten home when the phone rang. It was Simon, wondering if it would be all right if they all went back up to the isolated lake. Wondering if Sandburg and Ellison would think it an intrusion.

"Hold on a minute, Simon," Jim replied, turning to share the request with Sandburg, to get his reaction.

This trip was for him.

It was his call. Shaking his head, again amazed at the support that was never-ending from his friends and colleagues, Blair smiled softly. "Yeah," he replied, "tell Simon that's great. We're not the only ones to have to lay a few ghosts."

 

* * *

 

Two days later, they were just about to leave the loft with the last of their gear when the phone rang. As the one closest to it, Blair grabbed it up, chirping, "Hello?"

Jim made it a point not to eavesdrop on Sandburg's conversations, having learned the trick of turning down his dial immediately when it was clear a call was for his roommate. But when Blair stiffened, and his heart rate shot up as he replied, "Yes, and...?" the Sentinel was on full alert.

Consequently, he heard the news when Blair did. "I've looked through the results of all the tests, Dr. Sandburg," the physician reported, "and I'm very pleased to tell you they are all negative. You're fine."

Heaving out a relieved breath, Blair's shining eyes found Jim's, as he replied gratefully, "Thank you, Doctor... you have no idea how good that news is. Thanks for calling immediately."

As he hung up, a wide, bright smile lit his face and he laughed with the relief of it. Unable to restrain his own exuberance, Ellison had crossed the space between them to grab Sandburg in a tight hug and swing him around in delight.

"Whoa, Jim!" Blair giggled, "Crushing the old ribs, here... easy, big guy!"

Unrepentant, Ellison set his friend back on his feet, lifting his hands to rest on Blair's shoulders, as he replied, "I'm glad, Chief... I can't tell you how glad..."

Patting his arm, grinning cheekily, Blair assured him, "Yeah... I got that. Thanks!" Turning to grab up the pack he'd dropped, Blair crowed, "And now we can _really_ relax... let's go, man... the fish are jumping!"

Grinning back, Jim was almost overwhelmed with the relief of knowing that Blair was safe, would really suffer no lasting harm from the horror he had endured. As Ellison bent to pick up the last pack and, shouldering it as he followed Sandburg out the door, he thought that now, maybe, he'd be able to somehow find a way to let go of his own hidden rage and grief.

 

* * *

 

Once again, they found the cabin as pristine and ready for them as it had been a week ago, the setting as tranquil and soothing as ever. It was as if the darkness of that forest compound could not invade this place, could not sully its purity. Grateful, the men settled in, all of them badly needing the peace of the lake and the mountains that rose above them.

When Sandburg murmured that he and Ellison were going to go for a long walk, the others didn't ask any questions. They didn't have to. They understood and silently hoped their friends would find the healing they sought.

Rafe and H. went down to the dock to cast out their lines, while Simon and Joel took the boat onto the lake. "Take your time," Simon called after them as they headed out toward the forest path. But about half an hour later, Rafe and H. set their poles aside to walk up to the riverbank, to make their own peace with what had almost happened there.

Jim and Blair had only paused briefly at those rocks, grateful that H. had survived. Then they carried on, following the path Blair had taken that day as he'd fled from the man hunting him. When they got to the small glade where Ellison had subdued the hunter, Blair paused as he looked at the spot and remembered.

"Man," he murmured, "when he pulled that knife... I was so scared..."

Jim laid a firm hand on his best friend's shoulder, squeezing a little as he reminded Sandburg, "You warned me in time, Chief. It's all right."

They carried on, pausing again where Blair had been ambushed by Emery. "I didn't want you to surrender..." he said quietly.

"I know," Jim replied. "I heard you."

Blair looked up at Jim, smiling as he shook his head slowly. "Thanks," he said. "A sane man would have run for the hills... but not my Sentinel. I should know better than expect you to take my advice at a time like that."

Smiling softly in return, Jim ruffled Blair's hair as he replied warmly, "Yes, you should."

On they went, following the dim path through the trees until they reached the site where the camp had been located. Though all the weapons, ammunition, supplies and the trucks were gone, the bodies hauled away, the tents remained, surrounded by yellow tape, marking the site as still being under investigation. Jim's pace had slowed as they had ambled closer. It hadn't rained that week, and the scent of blood and death was still heavy in the air. But he held up the tape to allow Blair to bend under it, then followed, holding tightly to every last shred of his control.

The pegs, with the ropes that had bound Sandburg, were still in the ground.

Blair had wandered ahead, then paused to stare at the site where he'd had to endure such brutal abuse. Lost in his own memories, it was a moment before he realized Jim wasn't standing beside him.

The Sentinel had made it to the place where he'd been bound, where he'd been forced to listen for hours, where he'd struggled to maintain his consciousness by listening to a ragged heartbeat, where he'd endured a personal anguish beyond anything he'd ever before known.

And it was finally too much.

The smell of the blood that had dried in patches throughout the campsite, the sight of those pegs and ropes, the memories...

It was all too much for the control he'd been exerting over himself to hide his rage, and grief, and guilt, ever since the ordeal had begun.

He zoned.

Sandburg turned just as Jim crumpled to the ground, no longer aware of his surroundings... unable to cope with his own nightmares any longer in the presence of the reality.

He was back in hell.

"JIM!" Blair cried out as he ran to his friend's side, skidding to his knees. Urgently, frightened, he carefully turned his friend over onto his back, lifting Jim's shoulders and head to rest against his chest. "Oh, God... JIM!" he cried again, cursing himself silently for having brought his best friend here.

Jim had been so strong... had hidden his own pain so well. "Dammit, I didn't think!" Sandburg cursed himself again, then forcibly took hold of his own emotions. Taking a breath, centring himself, he stroked his friend's face as he called again, his voice modulating to the tones he used when bringing Jim back out of a zone, "Jim, come on, listen to my voice... hear me... you're all right. Everything is all right, Jim. You can come back... let it go, man, dial it down. The smell... the memories... dial it down. You can do it, picture the dials in your head, smell first... got it? That's it," he affirmed as Jim trembled in his grasp, turning his face infinitesimally toward his Guide. "I know you can hear me, Jim. Dial down your sense of smell to zero... see the numbers, turn it down, man. Okay, now, listen to me, Jim. It's over. It was terrible, but it's over. I'm all right. You're all right. We made it... let it go. Let the memories go..."

Sandburg kept up his reassuring chant and kept stroking Ellison's face and chest, finally lifting his friend's hand to cover his heart. "You can feel the beat, Jim, I know you can... you can hear my heart. You know I'm fine. Come back to me, Sentinel... it's time to come back to me."

Ellison blinked, but then seemed to sink away from him again... as if drowning in horror.

It wasn't working. Blair looked around, wondering what else he could try. He spotted some sage and lowering Jim to the ground, he raced to tear off some leaves and roll them in his hands as he turned back and knelt beside his friend. He placed some on Jim's tongue and held it under his nose, trying to stimulate taste and smell, then cursed himself again as he remembered that he'd directed Jim to turn all the dials down.

Sitting back on his heels, his thoughts raced as he tried to think of what to do. Jim's lips were being to turn blue, the zone too deep, too dangerously deep. His body was shutting down fast, too fast.

Gathering Jim back into his arms, lifting him to help his Sentinel breathe, Sandburg murmured, "You'd better have gone where I can find you!" Closing his eyes, he forced himself to breathe deeply, evenly, calmly, as he pictured the jungle.

Opening his eyes at the sound of the nearby river, Sandburg looked down to find he was holding Jim in this place, too. The Sentinel was lying limply against him, as if unaware and uncaring of his surroundings. "Jim, I'm here," Blair called softly. "Sentinel, hear me... I need you."

Jim blinked as awareness returned to his eyes. His Guide was calling. His Guide needed him.

The memories hit with the force of a hurricane, rushing over him, pummelling him, crushing him. He began to tremble, and then the trembling turned to shudders that rippled through his body like small convulsions as his eyes filled with tears they could not contain. Blair leaned over him, hugging him tightly, as he said, over and over, "I'm sorry, Jim... I'm so sorry."

"NO!" cried the Sentinel, pulling away, lunging to his feet, where he stood panting with emotion. " _ **NO!**_ You have **_nothing_** to be sorry about!" Rage boiled over, rage and unbridled fury at what had been done to his Guide. "Those bastards tortured you, humiliated and hurt you, almost killed you! I wanted to crush them, tear them apart, for what they did to you, for what they made you suffer!"

Turning he stalked away, pacing back and forth as he tried to bring his rage under control.

Rising to his feet, startled by the passionate wrath that consumed his friend, Blair held out his hands, his voice pitched to sooth, "Listen to me, Jim. I'm sorry to have dragged you back to where it happened. I'm sorry I failed to understand how much this was costing you... sorry for not helping you..."

But the Sentinel cut him off as he whirled to face Sandburg. "Failed?" he spat out. " _You're_ not the one who 'failed'! _I_ failed. _Me._ I didn't protect you. I couldn't stop them from hurting you... God... _I_ hurt you." As the magnitude of all that had occurred that he'd been helpless to prevent crashed over him, the Sentinel swayed, tears glistening in his eyes, as he choked, "I _always_ fail. Don't you see? The guys in Peru, Delgado, Jack, Danny, you... over and over, others get hurt, die, and _I_ survive. My God, Chief... I'm always hurting you... I love you so much and all I ever end up doing is hurting you, _failing_ you..."

Overcome, Jim crashed to his knees, doubled over, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, fighting to hold in a pain too great to be contained, choking back the sobs in his throat, his eyes pressed tight against tears he refused to let fall. Striving for some last vestige of control that was fast slipping away, despising himself for having failed yet again... failed to hold his own emotions and memories at bay, failed to keep from burdening his Guide with his own pain.

Blair lunged to his knees beside Jim, wrapping his arms tightly around his anguished friend as he strove to lend comfort, to ease the suffering. "Jim... you did _everything_ you could... let it go..." Blair soothed, trembling with sorrow for all that Jim had suffered, desperately worried by the depth of his friend's pain.

The Sentinel could feel his Guide trembling against him, hear the worry for him under the soothing tone, and couldn't stand it. He was hurting his Guide again, frightening him. He couldn't do this, couldn't cause more hurt, more suffering, not to the innocent one beside him. Struggling to master his own emotions, the Sentinel turned blindly toward his Guide, bringing up his own arms to protectively hug Blair tightly as he fought his own despair. "I couldn't... I couldn't..." he stammered, his voice hoarse and full with guilt and grief.

"Shh, I know," Blair reassured him, rocking him gently. "I know... you did your best, everything you could. Jim... shh... it's alright. I'm sorry... I didn't understand... I shouldn't have brought you here."

"They... they made me... _hurt_ you," the Sentinel rasped, panting in his horror. "They... what they did to you..."

 _"You_ didn't hurt me, Sentinel," the Guide replied, his voice steady and firm. " **YOU** didn't hurt me."

"I thought... I was afraid... they'd kill you," Jim gasped, holding Blair more tightly. "I couldn't stop them. I couldn't... protect you..."

"You were there for me," Blair answered, his voice strong now, desperate that Jim hear him... and believe him. "You did _everything, more_ than anyone should ever have to do. Your _**love**_ protected me..."

Shaking his head, inconsolable, the Sentinel murmured brokenly, " _I failed you..._ "

" **NO!** " the Guide remonstrated, unable to allow this unacceptable self-flagellation to continue. Jim had been a victim every bit as much as he had been, but he'd triumphed, had saved and sheltered his Guide with his courage, his love and his uncompromising commitment to rescue his Guide from those who sought to destroy him. His Sentinel had _not_ failed, not in _any_ way. " **NO! Hear me, Sentinel. You did NOT fail me. Do you understand? You did not hurt me! _You cannot hurt me, Sentinel. When I am with you, I am safe,_** " Blair called forcefully, his voice now steady and strong as he firmly reiterated the words he'd spoken on that terrible night a week before, " ** _If you are there for me, I am comforted. If you love me, then I am complete._** "

Hearing the voice of command, knowing he must heed his Guide, the Sentinel stilled and let his Guide's words wash over him, a soothing balm to his wounded soul. A tear slipped down his cheek then, as he gathered Blair closer to him, wishing so desperately that he could believe those words. Believe that he'd done nothing to hurt, believe that he had done all that was humanly possible. As Blair continued to soothe him, stroking his back, holding him close, he finally allowed himself to believe that he might be able to forgive himself for what he had been forced to do... what he'd been unable to prevent. But he'd still not been strong enough to hide his own fury and grief... had still burdened a friend who had already suffered too much.

Sagging a little in Blair's arms, trembling with sorrow, Jim whispered words that caught in his throat as he struggled not to cry, "I'm sorry... I... I wanted... I need to be strong... for you. You needed... needed to come here. I wanted... I only wanted... to be strong... for you." Sighing wretchedly, he swallowed, as he murmured, "You suffered so much, Chief... I didn't want to give you anything else to worry about... I'm sorry I lost it..."

"Oh, Jim," Blair whispered then, stroking his best friend's head, "You've held it all inside, haven't you? Tried to bury it so that I wouldn't worry about you anymore."

"You were hurting so bad... I've been so scared you'd leave if you knew... I didn't want you to know I wasn't handling it all... the way I wanted to..." Jim replied, quietly now, another silent tear slipping down his face. "You had enough to deal with, too much... didn't need... to deal with me. You won't... you won't leave...?"

Blair bit his lip, blinked back his own tears at the grief and pain in his partner's voice. Sniffing, he pulled away, only a little, just enough to reach down and gently tug Jim's face up toward his own, so that he could see his friend's eyes. "Yes... I was hurting... and scared. But, Jim... you were there for me, every step of the way. You never once let me fall. God, I'm so sorry I scared you, and that you still thought I might go if I knew how much you were hurting. I won't leave you... I promise. But, you know I don't want you suffering any more than you want that for me. Please, don't hide what you feel from me... you're the one who made me see that we can only get through this together... d'you hear me? Do you understand?"

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Ellison blinked back the tears that still brimmed in his eyes. Nodding, he sniffed, then for the first time, he noticed completely where they were. Startled, he flinched as he looked at Blair and then down at himself. Not knowing whether to groan or laugh with helpless hysteria, he muttered, "We're naked again... Jesus."

"It's symbolic, man, don't worry about it," Blair consoled him. But then he returned to the issue at hand. "Jim, you can't keep doing this... you can't keep beating yourself up when bad things that you can't control happen to us, or to others you care about. Shit happens, man; neither of us can stop it from happening however much we might want to. God, you gave everything that you are, Jim... everything to keep me alive, to bring me back from the edge of the abyss. For the first time in my life, I know what unconditional love feels like when it's given to me." When Ellison cut him a look that said he was maybe beginning to accept that he could forgive himself for falling apart, let alone for everything else, Blair teased gently, "I'm so damned grateful to you, I'd kiss you... but I'm afraid you might take it the wrong way."

Jim blew out a surprised laugh, then smiled a little unsteadily as he lifted a hand to caress Blair's hair. "I'm glad you finally know what it feels like to be loved unconditionally, Chief," he said gently, "but, if you kiss me right now, I swear I'll deck you."

Blair laughed so hard he could hardly get his breath while Ellison grinned tremulously, letting himself believe that it was finally all right... that they had both come back from the edge of the abyss... both of them still intact, their friendship solidly affirmed.

Finally, Blair caught his breath and shaking his head, he hugged Jim fiercely as he asked sincerely, "You alright now? Ready to go back?

"Yeah... I'm ready," Jim replied, disengaging himself gently from Blair's steady embrace.

"Good... cause by now everybody else will have caught the fish... and I don't intend to clean them all by myself!" Blair teased as he waited for his Sentinel to stand and reach down a hand to help him to his feet.

"Then I hope you remembered the rubber gloves," Ellison teased back.

The jungle faded. Standing, they took a last look at the site of torment, Jim's arm draped around Blair's shoulders, Blair's arm locked around his waist. Nodding to himself, Blair said softly, "Come on... let's get out of here."

As they walked back through the forest and along the riverbank, they were able to talk easily for the first time about what had happened, able to honestly confront their wounds and soothe them, heal them, banish them away.

"Don't get me wrong, man," Blair said thoughtfully at one point. "But... I really understand now what it means to go into the desert, to suffer... and to know that it's possible to come back. Love is what makes it possible. Love, when it's given and received in full measure, is what makes it possible to endure anything and emerge whole."

Cutting him a glance, then looking away, Ellison nodded. "A bit more of the 'Shaman' wisdom, Chief?" he asked quietly.

Blair smiled suddenly as he looked up at his best friend. "Maybe... yeah, I guess."

 

* * *

 

By the time they returned, they found that not only had the guys been hugely successful in hooking their dinner, but they'd also cleaned and prepared it, waiting only for the errant wanderers to return to finish preparing the meal.

Trying not to be obvious about it, the others cut them quick glances, to see if they were all right... and smiled in turn to see that whatever had happened in the last couple of hours, Ellison and Sandburg had returned fully at ease with each other and their world, if still a little subdued with the rest of them.

Once the meal was over, Jim and Blair shooed the others away from the kitchen area, insisting that the cleanup was their responsibility. It was such a nice night, the air crisp with autumn's clear chill, the sky above blazing with stars, the breeze soft and cleansing with the scent of pine, that the guys built a fire and hauled over fallen logs that they might all sit around it while gazing out at the shimmer of the darkened lake and the shadow of the mountains that rose above, protective, strong and sure sentinels of the night.

Jim and Blair carried out mugs of steaming cocoa, which were gratefully received by all. Taking their places around the fire, sitting close enough that their shoulders touched, the two brothers of the soul listened for a while to the stories and laughter... but, before the evening was over, their own voices had joined in the merriment. The cabin by the lake had worked its magic.

The peace, the love and the friendship, they had found there restored their souls.

This time, it really would be one great weekend.

FINIS


End file.
